THE 

WRITING  AND  READING 
OF  VERSE 


THE 

WRITING  AND  READING 
OF  VERSE 


BY 

C.  E.  ANDREWS,  M.A.,  PH.D. 

ABSISTANT   PROFE88OB   OF    ENGLISH    IN    THB 
OHIO  8TATE  DNIVEB8ITT 


D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 
"FATHER"  TINKER 


"For  the  artist  in  verse  there  is  no  law, 
the  perception  and  love  of  beauty  con- 
stitute the  whole  outfit;  and  what  is 
herein  set  forth  is  to  be  taken  merely  as 
enlarging  that  perception  and  exalting 
that  love." 

— SIDNEY  LANIEB. 


PREFACE 

No  field  of  literary  study  has  produced  so  many  widely 
different  theories  and  schools  as  that  of  versification.  There 
are  stress  theories,  syllabic  theories,  quantitative  theories, 
"long  and  short"  theories,  "monopressure"  theories, 
"rhythm-wave"  theories,  time  part  theories,  historical 
theories,  and  so  on,  "in  wandering  mazes  lost."  This  is 

A  gulf  profound  as  that  Serbonian  bog 
Betwixt  Damiata  and  Mount  Casius  old, 
Where  armies  whole  have  sunk. 

Metrists  hold  to  their  prosodic  prejudices  with  the  tenacity 
of  old-time  theologians,  and  scholars  will  die  at  the  stake 
for  a  definition. 

The  reason  for  these  puzzling  differences  in  point  of  view 
is  the  extreme  subtlety  and  complexity  of  the  phenomena 
of  poetry.  The  elements  involved  are  the  meanings  and 
the  connotations  of  words;  the  accents  and  the  movement 
of  speech  phrases;  the  number  and  the  quality  of  syllables; 
their  differences  in  intensity,  duration,  and  pitch;  the 
patterns  and  pauses  of  rhythm  and  meter;  and  finally, 
the  personal  equation  of  different  readers  of  verse.  These 
numerous  elements  now  combine  their  forces  and  produce 
one  effect,  and  now  struggle  together  and  create  another, 
in  ways  apparently  so  inconsistent  that  rational  principles 
are  hard  to  discover.  Each  metrist  finds  one  of  these 
elements  the  basic  principle  upon  which  verse  depends,  and 
all  the  others  subordinate  in  varying  degrees;  and  like 
the  philosopher  and  the  theologian,  each  theorist  makes 
his  partial  truth  the  whole.  So  the  ordinary  reader  of 
poetry,  perplexed  by  prosodic  wars,  asserts  with  a  fine  air 
of  distinction  that  he  does  not  find  any  principles  of  metrics 

ix 


PREFACE 

necessary  to  an  appreciation  of  poetry,  but  that  he  does 
know  what  he  likes! 

Now  I  wish  I  might  claim  that  my  book  is  superior  to 
any  of  its  predecessors  in  that  it  presents  all  the  elements 
of  poetry  in  their  true  relation,  and  that  in  the  future  the 
world  may  set  its  mind  to  rest  on  metrical  matters;  but, 
unfortunately,  I  do  not  feel  this  way  about  it.  I  merely 
claim  that  it  presents  a  possible,  and  I  hope  not  too  com- 
plicated, explanation  of  the  more  important  phenomena  of 
verse,  and  that  the  plan  has  a  few  practical  advantages 
over  other  systems. 

The  point  of  view  is  an  application  of  the  theory,  widely 
accepted  since  the  publication  of  Sidney  Lanier's  Science  of 
English  Verse,  that  the  rhythm  of  both  music  and  verse 
depends  upon  an  equality  of  time  divisions.  This  principle 
is  very  commonly  stated  at  the  beginning  of  books  on 
meter,  but  there  have  been  very  few  attempts  to  develop 
a  consistent  prosody  from  it.  The  advantages  of  this 
approach  to  the  subject  are  that  it  brings  the  analysis  of 
verse  into  some  relation  to  the  way  in  which  verse  is  written, 
and  helps  one  to  gain  a  greater  pleasure  in  reading  it  by 
training  one's  ear  to  appreciate  subtleties  of  rhythm.  The 
emphasis  through  the  book  is  placed  upon  the  appeal  of 
verse  to  the  ear. 

A  consideration  of  verse  as  fundamentally  composed  of 
anapests,  pyrrhics,  amphibrachs,  etc.,  may  be  adequate  and 
convenient  for  a  metrist,  but  complicated  and  troublesome 
for  a  student.  For  example,  he  feels  puzzled  by  an  explana- 
tion of  Shelley's  line, 

When  night  makes  a  weird  sound  of  its  own  stillness, 

as  a  succession  of  feet,  the  first  of  which  is  the  normal 
iambus,  and  the  rest  all  substitutions — pyrrhic,  spondee, 
anapest,  trochee,  i.  e. 


When  night  |  makes  a  |  weird  sound  |  of  its  own 


stillness. 


x 


PREFACE 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  he  does  not  see  why  this  explains 
how  the  line  can  be  rhythmical,  he  may  wonder  why  this 
particular  scansion  should  be  better  than, 


When  night     makes  a   weird  sound  j  of  its     own  stillness, 
or, 


When  night 


makes  a  weird 


sound  of     its  own     stillness. 


College  students  show  a  pardonable  repugnance  to  elab- 
orate technicalities;  it  is  hard  to  make  them  feel  a  vital 
interest  in  a  distinction  between  the  acephalous  iambic 
heptasyllable  and  the  trochaic  tetrameter  catalectic. 

An  analysis  of  verse  which  cultivates  an  ear  for  rhythm 
rather  than  a  sense  of  ingenuity  is  not  only  more  simple 
and  more  logical,  but  also  more  helpful  in  the  practice  of 
verse  writing.  The  student  poet  commonly  goes  through 
three  stages.  First  he  finds  that  poetic  rhythm  seems 
to  be  an  arrangement  of  words  with  an  emphasis  on  every 
other  syllable  or  every  third  syllable.  He  writes  on  this 
principle  until  someone  tells  him  to  stop,  or  until  he  discovers 
for  himself  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  monotony.  In  his 
next  stage  (if  he  ever  gets  beyond  the  first)  he  finds  that 
rhythms  may  be  varied  in  innumerable  ways.  His  reaction 
against  the  Mary-had-a-little-lamb  kind  of  verse  leads  him 
to  harsh  and  uncouth  effects,  and  he  scorns  all  curbs  that 
may  restrain  the  flight  of  Pegasus.  Then,  finally,  unless 
he  stops  here  as  a  "vers  librist,"  he  steers  a  middle  course 
that  avoids  both  the  monotony  of  his  first  manner  and 
the  formless  freedom  of  his  second.  Now  the  advantage 
which  the  young  versifier  gains  from  thinking  in  terms  of 
musical  equivalence  is  that  he  may  skip  the  stage  of  rigidly 
monotonous  composition.  He  begins  to  compose  with  too 
free  a  rhythm;  but  by  studying  his  own  efforts  in  com- 
parison with  the  work  of  accepted  poets,  he  may  develop 
an  ear  for  the  finer  variations,  and  may  then  achieve  an 

xi 


PREFACE 

interesting  verse  technique  of  his  own.  It  is  obviously 
easier  to  smooth  out  verse  that  is  too  rough  than  to  in- 
troduce pleasing  variety  into  a  dull  and  unvaried  rhythm. 
This  is  the  practical  advantage  which  may  be  claimed  for 
an  analysis  of  verse  on  the  principle  of  a  time  equivalence 
like  that  recognized  in  music. 

Part  One  of  the  book  deals,  in  a  general  way,  with  the 
theory  of  verse,  the  principles  of  meter,  rhythm,  move- 
ment, phrasing,  etc.  The  first  four  or  five  chapters  will 
give  the  general  student  sufficient  introduction  to  the 
elements  of  versification,  without  his  considering  the  chapters 
on  rime  and  melody.  He  may  refer  to  the  rest  of  the  book 
merely  for  the  definitions  of  special  types  of  verse.  Part  Two 
is  intended  as  a  help  to  the  more  advanced  student  of  com- 
position who  is  interested  in  trying  the  technique  of  the  dif- 
ferent verse  forms,  or  for  the  student  who  wishes  to  become 
a  more  capable  critic  of  poetry. 

I  wish  to  acknowledge  special  indebtedness  to  three 
previous  studies  in  verse  which,  more  than  others,  have 
helped  me  in  forming  my  own  point  of  view — Professor 
T.  S.  Omond's  Study  of  Meter,  Professor  C.  M.  Lewis' 
English  Versification,  and  M.  Vender's  Prindpes  de  la 
M&rique  Anglaise.  To  Mr.  Brian  Hooker,  whose  three 
volumes  of  poetry  show  that  he  can  not  only  analyze 
verse  but  can  also  write  it,  I  am  grateful  for  the 
privilege  of  reading  in  manuscript  his  forthcoming  book  on 
meter.  My  colleague,  Professor  Milton  Percival,  and  my 
brother,  Mr.  F.  Sturgis  Andrews,  have  given  me  valuable 
assistance  by  their  encouragement  and  criticism.  But 
more  than  to  anyone  else  I  ewe  a  debt  to  my  friend,  Pro- 
fessor Charles  W.  Cobb  of  Amherst,  before  whose  hospitable 
fire  I  have  smoked  many  a  pipe  and  discussed  for  hours 
at  a  time,  his  theories,  my  own  theories,  and  everybody 
else's  theories  of  rhythm — and,  in  fact,  theories  of  most 

things  in  the  world.  ~    _, 

C.  E.  ANDREWS 

Columbus,  Ohio. 

xii 


CONTENTS 
PART  I 

PRINCIPLES  OF  VERSE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    PRELIMINARY 3 

II.    METER — STRESS — ACCENT 6 

III.  SCANSION    . 19 

IV.  VERSE-PATTERN — DUPLE    AND    TRIPLE 

RHYTHM  ...........  32 

V.    PROSE  AND  VERSE       .     .     ......  49 

VI.    MOVEMENT — PHRASING    .......  69 

VII.    RIME     .     .     ...     ....     ...  82 

VIII.    MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 96 

PART  II 

TECHNIQUE  OF  SPECIAL  VERSE  FORMS 

IX.    STANZA  FORMS 139 

X.    TETRAMETER  COUPLET 162 

XI.    PENTAMETER  LINE — HEROIC  COUPLET       .     .  175 

XII.    BLANK  VERSE 196 

XIII.  SONNET 222 

XIV.  ODE 230 

XV.    FRENCH  FORMS 247 

xiii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.  TROCHAIC  VERSE 266 

XVII.  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 275 

XVIII.  DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS     .     .     .     .     .     .296 

XIX.  FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE     .  316 


xiv 


PART  I 

PRINCIPLES  OF  VERSE 


CHAPTER  I 
PRELIMINARY 

There  are  people,  even  intelligent  people,  who  read  verse 
so  that  it  sounds  like  prose  with  obtruding  rimes;  the 
meaning  is  all  they  care  about.  I  have  heard  people  read 
even  their  own  verses  in  this  way,  although  the  verses 
themselves  had  rhythmic  possibilities.  Other  readers  com- 
pletely sacrifice  the  meaning  of  the  words  to  satisfy  a  too 
mechanical  sense  of  rhythm.  They  read  such  lines  as 
these  from  Shelley's  Alastor  with  a  rigid  alternation  of 
emphasis, 

And  w&sted  f6r  fond  16ve  of  his  wild  6yes. 
In  the"  deaf  air  to  the"  blind  earth  and  hedven. 

They  may  find  these  lines  agreeable,  or  they  may  call  them 
bad  verse,  but  they  do  not  question  the  correctness  of  then- 
reading.  They  are  willing,  if  necessary,  to  change  the 
emphasis  on  the  same  word  when  it  occurs  in  two  suc- 
cessive lines,  as  in, 

I  kn6w  not  alight  that  Beatrice  designed, 
Nor  d6  I  think  she  designed  anything. 

(Shelley:    Cenci,  II,  i.) 

This  wrenching  of  accent  from  what  would  be  normal  in 
prose  they  call  "poetic  license."  A  third  class  of  readers 
preserve  a  distinct  feeling  of  rhythm  hi  such  lines,  and 
yet  give  the  words  their  usual  accents.  They  read, 

And  wasted  for  f6nd  16ve  of  his  wfld  eyes. 
In  the  defif  air  to  the  blind  edrth  and  heaVen. 
Nor  d6  I  think  she  designed  Anything. 
3 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  .OF  VERSE 

The  writer  on  versification  commonly  ignores  these 
differences  among  reade*  ,  dogmatically  asserts  what  he 
thinks  the  only  correct  leading  for  a  given  line,  and  for- 
mulates his  theories  of  verse  accordingly.  The  intention 
of  the  poet  might  be  taken  as  the  criterion,  but  how  shall 
we  be  sure  of  this  intention?  Each  reader  thinks  that  he 
himself  is  interpreting  it.  Such  questions  must  be  matters 
of  taste;  people  with  an  appreciation  of  literature  are  to 
be  found  among  all  three  classes  of  readers  just  mentioned. 

A  dogmatic  attitude  in  matters  of  taste  is  prejudicial 
to  any  scientific  study.  Our  first  approach  to  the  study 
of  verse  should  be  scientific;  only  when  we  have  agreed  on 
certain  fundamentals  can  we  profitably  discuss  differences 
in  taste.  Verse  depends  upon  the  ear,  not  the  eye;  there- 
fore it  must  be  read  before  it  can  be  discussed.1  Let  our 
first  point  of  view  be  that  anyone  may  read  verse  as  he  will, 
and  that  the  task  of  the  student  is  to  observe  and  record 
how  verse  has  been  read.  Taste,  of  course,  must  determine 
good  reading,  but  the  principles  of  versification  should  hold 
for  any  reading.  The  student  should  train  his  ear  to  hear 
accurately  both  his  own  and  other  people's  rendering  of  a 
passage.  Whenever  a  reading  is  marked  in  the  following 
pages  it  is  presented  as  a  possible  one — that  which  the 
author  prefers — but  not  the  only  correct  one. 

Another  preliminary  point  to  be  mentioned  is  the  necessity 
for  agreement  in  the  use  of  terms.  Since  there  is  an  un- 
fortunate confusion  of  meaning  over  frequently  used  words 
like  rhythm,  meter,  stress,  accent,  etc.,  the  student  must 
keep  his  discussions  clear  by  adopting  one  definition  for 
each  and  strictly  adhering  to  it.  In  a  recent  article  on 
vers  libre  occurred  the  statement  that  fixed  verse  depended 
upon  rhythm  and  free  verse  upon  cadence,  but  no  definition 
was  given  for  either  of  these  words,  which  are  sometimes 
used  synonymously.  The  mathematician  demands  that 

1  See  C.  W.  Cobb:  "A  Scientific  Basis  for  Metrics,"  Modern  Language 
Notes,  May,  1913;  and  Verrier:  Principes  de  la Melrique  Anglaise,  1, 118. 

4 


PRELIMINARY 

his  reader  accept  certain  assumptions  and  agree  to  certain 
definitions  throughout  a  given  discussion;  you  cannot 
logically  follow  his  argument  unless  you  accept  his  meaning 
of  the  terms  number,  straight  line,  or  paralklopipedon 
Metrical  discussions  to  be  at  all  fruitful  require  a  similar 
agreement  on  the  meaning  of  terms  like  stress,  accent,  or 
foot,  throughout  the  same  argument. 


CHAPTER  II 

METER — STRESS — ACCENT 

Most  readers  will  agree  that  the  first  obvious  difference 
between  verse  and  prose  is  that  verse  is  divided  into  cer- 
tain units  called  lines,  and  that  these  lines  must  be 
"metrical."  It  is  the  definition  of  "metrical"  that  causes 
disagreement.  Let  us  try  to  form  a  definition  which  may 
be  one  basis  for  a  study  and  classification  of  verse. 

Suppose  we  grant  that  the  following  indicates  a  possible 
metrical  reading  of  the  opening  lines  of  Henry  IV,  Part  I: 

So  shaken  as  we  are  so  wan  with  care 
Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant 
And  breathe  short-winded  accents  of  ne"w  br6ils 
To  be"  comme'nc'd  in  strands  afar  rem6te. 

No  m6re  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields  .  .  . 

The  first  and  fourth  lines  might  be  explained  as  metrical 
because  every  other  syllable  receives  emphasis,  but  this 
will  not  explain  why  the  second,  third  and  fifth,  when  read 
as  indicated,  are  also  metrical.  Furthermore,  the  following 
lines  from  Shelley  and  Tennyson,  though  they  seem  quite 
different  in  the  distribution  of  emphasis  from  the  first 
quoted  above,  occur  in  contexts  of  the  same  kind  of  verse: 

When  night  makes  a  weird  sound  of  its  6wn  stillness. 

(Shelley:    A  lastor.) 
The  little  Innocent  soiil  flitted  away. 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

One  listening  to  the  indicated  metrical  reading  of  the  passage 
from  Henry  IV  can  detect  a  huddling  of  the  syllables 
"Find  we  a,"  "accents  of,"  and  "channel  her"  and  also  a 

6 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 


slight  lengthening  of  "new"  and  "war."  The  reader 
seems  to  jump  from  one  point  of  emphasis  to  the  next  at 
something  approaching  equal  intervals  of  time,  and  to  let 
all  syllables  between  take  care  of  themselves.  The  lines 
of  verse  when  read  metrically  are  divided  into  equal  time 
parts  which  correspond  to  the  bars  of  a  phrase  in  music. 
That  is,  both  verse  and  music  primarily  depend  upon 
rhythm.1  To  make  the  parallel  between  verse  and  music 
clearer  we  may  represent  by  musical  notation  one  possible 
reading  of  the  first  line  quoted  above.  The  bars,  as  in 
written  music,  precede  the  emphatic  syllables. 


3      So 
*     J 


shak  •    en 


J  J  J  J  J  J 


with 


J 


Possible  readings  of  the  less  regular  lines  might  be  these: 


3      And     |  breathe    short    -  |  wind  -    ed 
*      J 


eathe    short    -  i  wind  -    ed       i   ac  -  cents    of 

J.     J.    U     J    I J    J    J 


new       I  broils. 
J-  J 


q      No       i  more       shall    i  trench    -  ing      •  war       i  ehan  -  nel        her      i  fields. 
*      J        U          J      |  J  J       I    J.      i    J       J         J       I   J 


We  may  carry  the  parallel  further  by  reading  the  lines 
to  the  rhythm  of  a  metronome,  the  ticks  of  which  occur 
at  exactly  equal  intervals  of  time.  The  reading  will  sound 
stiff  and  expressionless,  but  it  will  still  satisfy  us  as 
"metrical. "  And  we  must  remember  that  playing  a  musical 
instrument  in  the  unmodified  tempo  of  the  metronome  would 
have  as  awkwardly  stiff  an  effect  as  our  experiment  with 
verse.  Expression  in  good  reading  or  in  good  playing  may 

1  "Rhythm  is  the  harmonious  repetition  of  certain  fixed  sound  rela- 
tions, time  being  the  basis,  just  as  in  dancing  or  music.  .  .  ."  (Gum- 
mere:  Poetics,  p.  136.) 

*  Of  course  some  readers  may  prefer: 


And 

J 


breathe     short 
J  J 


wind 
J 


ed 
J 


ac   -  cents 
J          J 


broils. 
J 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

necessitate  frequent  slight  departures  from  an  exact  equality 
of  time  divisions,  but  the  departures  must  not  be  so  con- 
siderable as  to  destroy  the  feeling  that  rhythm  is  present. 
The  ear  is  a  very  imperfect  instrument,  and  our  sense  of 
rhythm  is  satisfied  if  the  phenomena  marking  the  rhythm 
occur  at  only  sensibly  equal  intervals  of  time.3  In  fact,  the 
sophisticated  ear  finds  greater  pleasure  in  these  slight 
variations,  just  as  the  tempo  of  a  virtuoso  subtly  playing 
with  individuality  about  a  norm  of  exact  rhythm  pleases 
us  much  more  than  the  inevitable  rhythmic  accuracy  of 
the  pianola.  "In  a  fine  oriental  rug  the  hand-made,  slightly 
irregular  ornament  and  intentionally  varied  symmetry  are 
more  interesting  and  more  beautiful  than  the  dead  mechan- 
ical precision  of  a  machine-woven  pattern;  but  a  geo- 
metrically perfect  pattern  may  be  said  to  lie  at  the  basis 
of  the  Persian  weaver's  design.  So  in  verse  there  is  an 
exact  pattern  underneath,  to  which  the  reader  approximates, 
now  more  closely,  now  less,  as  the  phonetic  character  of 
the  words  or  the  requirements  of  sense  and  expression 
permit  or  demand."4 

A  possible  way,  then,  of  explaining  the  basis  of  verse  is 
to  say  that  a  line  is  metrical  when  it  is  divided  into  sensibly 
equal  time  parts.  This  definition  assumes  a  unit  called  a 
line,  which  does  not  exist  in  prose.  There  is,  after  all, 

1  The  margin  of  inaccuracy  in  the  perception  of  the  different  senses 
is  one  of  the  common  subjects  for  experiment  in  psychology.  "  It  is  a 
familiar  condition  that  two  stimuli  must  differ  at  least  by  a  minimal 
amount,  in  order  that  we  may  become  aware  of  their  differences.  .  .  . 
For  lifted  weights  it  is,  we  shall  see,  about  one-thirtieth.  For  pressure 
on  the  finger-tip  it  has  been  found  to  be  about  one- twentieth,  for  bright- 
ness of  light  about  one-hundredth,  and  for  intensities  of  noise,  about 
one-third;  two  sounds  of  different  loudness  can  just  be  distinguished 
as  different,  provided  that  the  intensity  of  one  is  greater  by  about 
one-third  than  that  of  the  other."  C.  S.  Myers,  A  Text-book  of 
Experimental  Psychology,  1909,  pp.  255-6. 

«T.  D.  Goodell:  Chapters  on  Greek  Metric,  p.  82.  The  chapter  on 
"Rhythm  and  Language"  is  an  admirable  discussion  of  the  subject  of 
rhythm  in  general. 

8 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 

much  to  be  said  for  the  popular  distinction  that  each  line 
in  verse  begins  with  a  capital  but  in  prose  does  not.  The 
sentence  you  are  reading  now,  for  instance,  may  be  divided 
easily  into  verse  of  equal  line  lengths,  each  with  its  five 
stresses,  thus: 

The  sentence  y6u  are  redding  n6w,  for  instance 

May  be*  divided  easily  fnto  ve*rse 

Of  e*qual  line  lengths,  each  with  its  ffve  stresses. 

But  you  were  not  conscious  of  any  such  divisions  when  you 
read  the  sentence  first.  Read  as  prose  it  has  a  very  different 
sound  from  when  read  as  verse.  For  one  thing,  each  group 
of  words  which  forms  a  line  when  read  as  verse,  your  prose 
reading  probably  divided  into  a  different  number  of  time 
parts,  so  that  the  groups  could  not  be  recognized  as  three 
units  of  the  same  metrical  form.  A  more  detailed  discus- 
sion of  the  differences  between  prose  and  verse  will  be 
taken  up  later.5 

Further  support  for  the  definition  at  which  we  have  arrived 
— a  line  is  metrical  when  divided  into  sensibly  equal  time 
parts — may  be  found  in  the  exhaustive  researches  of  M. 
Verrier  and  other  psychologists,  who  have  shown  by  actual 
measurement  that  the  time  parts  of  verse  are  much  more 
nearly  equal  than  those  of  singing.6  Then,  too,  many  of 
the  great  makers  of  poetry  have  shown  by  the  chanting 
manner,  often  monotonous,  of  their  own  recitations  that 
they  felt  a  musical  rhythm  in  verse  as  its  fundamental 
quality.  There  is  an  agreement  of  evidence  that  this  was 
characteristic  of  Tennyson's  and  Poe's  reading;  Scott  com- 
posed verses  on  horseback,  and  Wordsworth  marked  his 
rhythm  by  beating  the  Cumberland  hills  with  his  cane. 
The  principle  is  likewise  borne  out  by  Professor  Gummere's 

8  See  Chapter  4. 

tPrincipes  de  la  Metrique  Anglaise,  III,  241.  M.  Verrier  finds  this 
true  of  even  the  most  irregular  verse  compared  with  the  most  regular 
songs  sung  to  a  single  syllable. 

9 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING   OF  VERSE 

theory  of  the  origin  of  poetry  in  the  simple  rhythmical 
exclamations  that  help  keep  the  time  in  concerted  labor, 
and  in  the  rude  half-shout,  half-song  accompanying  com- 
munal tribal  dances.7 

This  equality  of  time  divisions  is  not  only  the  basis  of 
Old  and  Modern  English  verse,  but  foreign  investigations 
have  shown  that  it  is  the  principle  underlying  French  and 
German8  as  well.  The  differences  between  the  verse  of 
one  period  and  another,  or  of  one  language  and  another, 
are  matters  of  arbitrary  convention,  or  of  ornament.  Old 
English  verse,  for  example,  has,  in  general,  four  time  parts 
to  the  line,  which  has  a  pause  in  the  middle,  and  is 
embellished  with  alliteration,  e.  g. 

H16h  and  |  hlydde,     |  hlynede  and  |  dynede. 

The  heroic  couplet  in  the  age  of  Pope  has  normally  five 
time  parts  to  the  line,  which  is  strictly  limited  to  ten 
syllables,  e.  g. 

?l£nets  and  |  stars  run  |  lawless  |  through  the  |  sky. 

The  French  classical  alexandrine  has  also  a  fixed  require- 
ment of  syllables,  twelve,  variously  distributed  among 
four,  or  occasionally  three,  time  divisions,  e.  g. 

Je  veux,  |  sans  que  la  m6rt  |  6se  |  me  secourfr, 

Tou  jours  aime'r,  |  tou  jours  souffrfr,  |  tou  jours  mourir. 

In  Latin  verse  the  principle  of  musical  equivalence  is  evident 
from  the  quantitative  relation  of  the  syllables,  one  "long" 
being  a  substitute  for  two  "shorts"  in  the  hexameter  line,9 


7  Beginnings  of  Poetry,  Ch.  2.  See  also  T.  D.  Goodell:  op.  cit.,  pp.  67  S. 

•M.  Grammont:  Le  Vers  Franfais,  Paris,  1904;  Petit  Traitt  de 
Poesie  Franfaise,  Paris,  1908;  and  F.  Saran,  Deutsche  Verslehre,  Munich, 
1907. 

•  There  is  the  same  time  equivalence  in  classical  verses  which  allows 
a  spondee,  --  ,  or  a  dactyl,  —  -"  ~,  to  be  substituted  for  a  trochee, 
--  ;  this  is  recognized  by  giving  separate  names  to  these  substituted 
feet,  "irrational  spondee,"  "cyclic  dactyl." 

10 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 

Arma  vi-  rumque  ca-  i  no    Troi-    ae  qui    primus  ab  |  oris. 

All  these  different  kinds  of  verse  depend  primarily  upon  the 
equality  of  time  measures,  but  the  verse  of  each  language 
has  made  more  prominent  its  secondary  characteristics. 
The  number  of  syllables,  the  grouping  of  them,  or  their 
phonetic  quality,  constitute  different  conventions,  which 
rest  upon  the  basis  of  musical  equivalence. 

If  the  equality  of  time  divisions  is  to  be  the  principle 
upon  which  our  study  of  meter  depends,  we  must  next 
explain  how  this  equality  makes  itself  perceptible.  In 
music  the  division  of  the  measures  is  marked  by  an  em- 
phasis on  the  first  beat,  or  by  some  change  in  the  melody 
or  the  harmony  which  may  accompany  the  rhythm.  In 
classical  verse  the  rhythm  is  marked  by  regular  changes  in 
the  quantity  of  the  syllables;  in  French  verse  by  a  slight 
emphasis;  and  in  German  and  English  usually  by  a  strong 
emphasis. 

A  metrical  reading  of  the  line, 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

(Gray:    Elegy.) 

divides  it  into  time  parts  by  the  reader's  emphasis  of  sylla- 
bles made  important  by  the  sense  of  the  passage.  In  this 
line  there  are  five  syllables  which  demand  emphasis,  but 
in  the  line, 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 

there  are  but  four  which  would  be  emphasized  in  prose 
reading.  Both  these  lines,  however,  may  be  read  as  units 
of  the  same  form — each  divided  into  five  time  parts.  But 
in  the  second  line,  the  time  between  the  emphasis  hi  senates 
and  the  emphasis  in  commdnd  is  twice  that  between  any 
other  two  successive  important  syllables  in  the  line.  Some 
readers  make  it  clear  that  there  are  two  tune  divisions  here 
by  putting  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  insignificant  syllable 

11 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

to;  others,  by  giving  this  syllable  a  somewhat  greater  time 
value  than  in  the  normal  pronunciation  of  it,  but  not  giving 
it  any  special  force  of  voice;  and  still  other  readers  give 
all  the  syllables  their  normal  value  but  fill  up  the  time  by 
a  slight  pause  (like  a  rest  in  music)  after  the  word  senates. 
All  three  read  the  line  as  pentameter.  Such  a  condition 
we  may  liken  to  a  man  walking  along  beside  a  fence  and 
touching  successively  and  rhythmically  all  the  pickets,  and 
instinctively  making  a  gesture  at  a  place  where  one  picket 
may  happen  to  be  broken. 

Another  fact  about  emphasis  in  verse  may  be  observed 
in  the  line, 

Depart  again:    here,  here  will  I  remain, 

in  which  we  may  read  five  time  parts,  but  six  emphatic 
syllables.  In  fact,  we  may  emphasize  the  first  here  stronger 
than  any  other  syllable  and  still  read  five  time  parts  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  metronome.10 

The  two  phenomena  just  considered  indicate  that  there 
may  be  a  conflict  between  the  ideal  metrical  scheme  of  a 
verse  passage  and  the  grammatical  or  sense  emphasis  of  the 
words  which  compose  it.  Lines  of  perfect  regularity  like, 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

in  which  probably  all  readers  will  agree  as  to  which  five 
syllables  should  be  emphasized,  we  may  consider  ideal 
examples  of  their  type.  Many  such  lines  in  succession 
would  have  a  monotonous  effect,  and  actually  occur  less 
often  in  good  verse  than  lines  like, 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
or, 

Depart  again:    here,  here  will  I  remain, 

10  Compare  the  arbitrary  accentuation  possible  anywhere  in  a  measure 
in  music,  for  the  sake  of  a  special  effect  in  interpretation. 

12 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 

where  there  is  clearly  a  struggle  between  the  two  forces, 
meter  and  sense.  In  the  former  line,  the  natural  sense 
reading  must  yield  to  the  requirement  of  the  rhythm  if 
the  line  is  to  be  read  in  five  time  parts;  in  the  latter,  the 
meaning  will  incline  the  reader  to  make  the  rhythm  slightly 
concede.  It  is  the  nice  balance  and  adjustment  of  these 
two  forces  that  constitute  a  large  part  of  the  skill  in  making 
or  in  reading  verses.  In  order  to  study  this  conflict  further, 
we  may  find  it  convenient  to  use  the  following  definitions: 

Emphasis  is  any  kind  of  prominence  given  to  a  syllable.11 
It  may  be  a  special  force  of  voice,  or  it  may  be  a  slight  length- 
ening of  a  syllable12  (more  than  in  the  usual  pronunciation 
of  it),  like  a  slight  prolongation  of  the  first  note  of  a 
measure  to  mark  the  rhythm  in  organ  playing,  where  special 
force  is  impossible.  Emphasis  also  may  be  subjective; 
we  may  instinctively  feel  some  prominence  in  a  syllable 
because  we  expect  it. 

Stress  is  metrical  emphasis. 

Accent  is  sense  emphasis. 
When  these  do  not  coincide  throughout  a  line  we  have: 

Light  Stress  (marked  "),  emphasis  required  by  meter, 
but  not  by  sense,  ort 

Extra  Accent  (marked  A),  emphasis  required  by  sense 
but  not  by  meter. 

A  Foot  is  the  time  between  two  stresses,  or  one  of  the  equal 
time  parts.  A  Dimeter  is  a  line  of  two  feet;  Trimeter,  one 
of  three  feet;  Tetrameter,  four;  Pentameter,  five;  Hexa- 
meter, six;  Heptameter,  seven;  Octameter,  eight. 

A  stress  is  called  "light"  if  it  falls  on  an  article,  prep- 

11  These  definitions  apply  either  to  the  point  of  view  of  the  reader  or 
to  that  of  the  listener. 

"This  lengthening  of  a  syllable,  "quantity,"  is,  of  course,  the  means 
of  dividing  the  time  parts  in  classical  verse.  The  Romans  and  Greeks 
evidently  had  a  much  subtler  sense  of  the  quantity  of  syllables  than 
we  have.  To  read  the  experimental  imitations  of  classical  verse  in  Eng- 
lish, by  Tennyson,  Clough  and  Robert  Bridges,  requires  one  to  cul- 
tivate an  ear  for  quantity  and  almost  to  obliterate  accent. 

13 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

osition,  pronoun,  or  auxiliary  verb,  unimportant  in  the 
reader's  idea  of  the  sense  of  the  passage,  or  on  an  un- 
accented syllable  of  a  polysyllabic  word.  It  may  occur 
anywhere  in  a  line: 

And  in  luxurious  cities  where  the  noise. 

(Milton:    Paradise  Lost,  I,  498.) 
Nor  served  it  td  rel&x  their  serried  files. 

(Ibid.,  VI,  599.) 
Sole  reigning  h61ds  the  tyranny  of  heaven. 

(Ibid,  I,  124.) 
No  light;  but  r&ther  darkness  visible. 

~~(Ibid.,  I,  63.) 

Light  stresses  may  occur  in  more  than  one  place  in  the 
same  line: 

To  m£ke  a  virtue  6f  necessity. 

(Two  Gentkmen  of  Verona,  IV,  i,  62.) 
His  ministers  of  vengeance  and  pursuit. 

(Ibid.,  I,  170.) 
The  thunder  df  the  trumpets  df  the  night. 

(Swinburne:    Lous  Veneris.) 
To  settle  th6  succession  6f  the  Stdtc. 

These  last  three  lines  would  naturally  be  read  as  trimeter 
(i.  e.,  divided  into  three  time  parts  by  the  three  full 
stresses)  did  they  not  occur  in  a  context  of  pentameter. 
When  there  are  but  two  full  stresses  in  a  line — as  is  the 
case  with. 

A  d&solAtion,  &  simplicity. 

(Wordsworth:    Prelude.) 
In  the  ec6nomy  df  viUlit^, 

(Hardy:    Dynasts,  V,  iv.) 


and 


That  Appertain  untd  a  burial, 

(Much  Ado  About  Nothing.) 
14 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 

— the  difference  between  the  prose  reading  of  the  words 
and  the  very  artificial  verse  reading  is  so  conspicuous  that 
the  lines  sound  thin  and  weak. 

There  are  a  few  unusual  lines  in  Shakespeare  in  which 
one  stress  is  completely  wanting,  e.  g. 

Shall    16se    me.    (       )    WMt    in    a    t6wn    of    war. 

(Othello,  H,  iiL) 

and 

With  this  thin  helm.    (        )    Mine  Enemy's  d6g. 

(King  Lear,  IV,  vii.) 

If  these  lines  are  not  read  simply  as  tetrameter  (in  a  context 
of  pentameters)  they  may  be  considered  as  cases  in  which 
the  sense  of  rhythm  is  satisfied  by  an  interval  of  silence, 
like  a  rest  in  music,  coming  at  the  grammatical  pause. 
In  one  case  a  whole  time  part  is  filled  with  silence;  in  the 
other,  only  a  portion  of  a  tune  part.13 

Examples  of  extra  accent  are: 

Fo61!  Fo61!  repeated  h6  while  his  e£es  stfll. 

(Keats:    Endymion.) 

Ke&n,  cruel,  pe"rceant,  stinging,  she"  as  we'll. 

(Ibid.) 
And  t4n  low  w6rds  6ft  creep  in  6ne  dflll  Ifne. 

(Pope:    Essay  on  Criticism.) 

O'er  b6g  or  stee"p,  through  straft,  rough  de"nse,  or  r&re, 
With  head,  hands,  wfngs,  or  fee"t  pursues  his  way. 

(Milton:    Paradise  Lost,  II,  948.) 

R6cks,  caves,  lakes.  fe"ns,  b6gs,  de'ns  and  shades  of  death. 

(Ibid.,  II,  620.) 

The  line, 

11  The  dramatic  emotion  of  the  speakers  in  both  these  passages  might 
be  the  reason  for  the  break  in  the  verse.  For  other  examples  see  R.  M. 
Alden:  English  Verse,  p.  20. 

15 


Spouse!    Sfster!    Angel!    Pilot  df  the  fate, 

(Shelley:    Epipsychidion.) 

may  be  read,  as  indicated,  with  five  stresses  and  five  accents, 

not  all  coincident. 

Again,  in  this  line  from  Arnold's  Scholar  Gipsy, 

Thou  hadst  6ne  aim,  6ne  business,  6ne  desire, 

if  it  is  read  as  indicated,  the  first  two  occurrences  of  one 
(Italicized  by  the  poet  himself)  are  cases  of  extra  accent, 
but  in  the  third,  accent  and  stress  coincide.  Though  all 
three  may  receive  the  same  force  of  voice  in  reading,  with 
the  first  two  it  is  emphasis  within  the  time  part,  and  with 
the  third,  emphasis  that  marks  the  time  division. 

For  verse  to  be  read  well  the  time  parts  should  be  dis- 
tributed so  that  the  stresses  coincide  as  far  as  possible  with 
the  sense  accents.  For  instance, 

At  6nce  I  s£w  him  far  on  the  great  se£, 

(Tennyson:    Holy  Grail.) 

is — I  think  most  people  will  admit — a  more  effective  reading 
than, 

At  6nce  I  saw  him  far  on  the  great  se&; 

though  both  are  metrical,  and  both,  of  course,  are  allow- 
able according  to  the  principle  of  free  choice  in  reading 
stated  at  the  beginning  of  this  book.  Occasionally,  in 
reading  verse  with  archaic  affectations  like  that  of  the 
Pre-Raphaelites,  stress  and  accent  cannot  be  made  to  coin- 
cide effectively  in  accordance  with  modern  pronunciation, 
as: 

Updn  my  reel  robe,  strange  in  thfe  twilight 

(Morris:    Arthur's  Tomb.) 

Now  s6  it  chanced  upon  a  MAy  Morning 

(Morris:    Proud  King.) 
16 


METER— STRESS— ACCENT 

Sto6p  through  the  sprdy  of  soine  sweet  life-fountain.14 
(Rossetti:    House  of  Life.) 

Such  a  wrenching  of  accents,  which  has  usually  been  avoided 
by  the  best  poets,  apparently  gave  a  quaint  pleasure  to 
Morris  and  Rossetti.  Another  similar  point  to  be  noted 
in  reading  is  that  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  shifted  the 
accent  of  certain  dissyllabic  words  according  to  the  require- 
ments of  his  meter,  e.  g. 

He  is  complete  in  feature  and  in  mind 

(Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II,  iv.) 

O  maid  of  grace  and  c6mplete  majesty 

(Love's  Labors  Lost,  I,  i.) 

Most  of  the  words,  however,  in  which  this  change  is  said 
to  occur,  can  be  read  with  the  same  accent  in  the  different 
lines  in  which  they  happen,  unless  the  reader  tries  to  make 
regular  and  unvaried  lines  of  them  all  In  the  two  following 
cases,  for  instance, 

An  extreme  fear  can  neither  fight  nor  fly. 

(Lucrece,  230.) 
To  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage. 

(Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  II,  vii.) 

we  may  read  Extreme  or  extreme  consistently  in  both  lines  and 
still  divide  them  satisfactorily,  into  five  equal  time  parts. 
Isn't  it  better,  then,  to  give  all  such  words  the  modern 
accent,  except  where  this  makes  a  distinctly  awkward 
reading?  15 

14  To  read  May  M6rning  or  life  fountain  would  sound  very  awkward 
to  most  of  us,  because  English  poets,  for  some  reason,  have  not  given 
this  particular  rhythmical  ending  to  a  line;  therefore  our  ears  are  not 
accustomed  to  it. 

16  Nearly  all  the  cases  of  "recession  of  accent"  given  in  Robert 
Bridges'  Milton's  Prosody  (p.  55)  can  be  read  with  agreeable  effect 
without  altering  the  modern  prose  accent. 

Professor  Bright  (Bright  and  Miller:  English  Versification)  has  a  theory 

17 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

In  general,  if  the  poet  has  done  his  work  well,  the  reader 
will  find  that  giving  the  words  in  verse  their  normal  sense 
accent,  will  bring  out  a  division  of  the  lines  into  approx- 
imately equal  time  parts. 

which  explains  this  accentual  shifting,  as  well  as  what  I  have  alluded 
to  as  a  conscious  effect  of  archaism  with  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  as  sur- 
vivals, in  verse,  of  earlier  pronunciation.  For  instance,  words  of  French 
origin  when  first  introduced  into  English  were  accented  on  the  last 
syllable.  When,  in  the  development  of  the  language,  the  accent  of  these 
words  shifted  in  ordinary  speech,  poets  had  their  choice  of  continuing 
the  old  or  adopting  the  new  form,  wherever  one  or  the  other  pleased 
them  better.  This  theory,  only  a  part  of  which  I  have  explained,  is  too 
comprehensive.  It  very  well  explains  the  Shakespearian  usage  I  have 
just  mentioned,  but  why  carry  it  so  far  as  to  insist  on  our  reading, 

Who  knows  on  whom  fortune  would  then  have  smiled, 

(Henry  IV,  Part  II,  iv.) 
or 

Is  success  still  attendant  on  desert? 

(Browning:  Ring  and  Book.) 

Furthermore,  the  lines  from  Rossetti  and  Morris  quoted  above  are 
not  cases  of  accentual  shifting  that  are  common  in  modern  verse,  but 
obviously  attempts  to  add  a  flavor  of  Chaucer  or  the  ballads. 

When  Chaucer  wrote, 

And  whan  that  h£  was  slayn  in  this  manure, 

(Troilus,  II.) 
or, 

And  bathed  eVery  veyne  in  swich  licour, 

(Canterbury  Tales  Prologue.) 

he  was  giving  manner  and  liquor  their  usual  prose  accent  in  his  time. 
But  Twilight  and  Morning  are  not  real  archaisms,  either  consciously  or 
unconsciously  surviving,  but  merely  effects  that  suggest  the  freedom  of 
ballad  versification,  or  possibly  the  way  Chaucer  sounds  to  a  modern 
reader.  When  accentual  shifts  occur  in  the  ballads,  it  is  safe  to  con- 
sider that  the  unsophisticated  ear  of  the  author  or  listener  was  willing 
to  sacrifice  sense  to  obey  them,  whenever  this  made  versifying  easier. 
In  the  ballad  King  Henry,  lady  and  lady  both  occur,  though  I  believe 
there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  the  second  pronunciation  was  ever  used 
outside  of  verse. 

Says,  "laxly,  hap  your  lingean." 

"An  what  meat's  in  this  house  lady." 

18 


CHAPTER  III 
SCANSION 

Scansion  is  a  means  of  indicating  for  the  purpose  of  study 
the  division  of  verse  into  feet.  The  scansion  of  a  line 
should  not  differ  from  the  natural  verse  reading  of  it  except 
in  exaggerating  the  special  characteristics  of  that  reading. 
That  a  scansion  should  be  an  indication  or  a  record  of 
somebody's  reading;  or,  conversely,  that  any  good  reading 
is  merely  a  refinement  of  scansion,  is  a  principle  to  which 
the  method  of  this  book  adheres. 

The  student  should  listen  carefully  to  his  own  reading 
and  to  that  of  others  and  learn  to  detect  and  mark  quickly 
the  points  at  which  the  dividing  stresses  occur.1  According 
to  the  conclusions  of  the  psychologists  the  stress  occurs  on 
the  attack  of  the  vowel.2  Strictly  then,  following  the 
musical  analogy  of  placing  the  bar  before  each  stress,  a 
line  would  be  divided  thus: 

S-  |  ouls  of  p- 1  oets  d- 1  ead  and  g- 1  one, 
or, 

The  c- 1  urfew  t-  |  oils  the  kn- 1  ell  of  p-  |  arting  d- 1  ay, 

but  practically  it  is  more  convenient  to  include  with  the 
vowels  the  consonants  which  belong  in  the  same  syllable, 
thus: 

|  Souls  of  |  poets  |  dead  and  |  gone, 
or, __ 

1  A  good  exercise  for  a  class  is  to  have  one  student  read  verses  written 
on  a  blackboard,  another  to  mark  the  division  of  the  verses  as  read, 
a  third  to  read  them  as  the  second  student  has  marked  them,  and  the 
rest  of  the  class  to  criticise  the  work  of  all  three. 

1  See  also  T.  D.  Goodell:  op.  tit.,  p.  88. 

19 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  |  curfew  |  tolls  the  |  knell  of  |  parting  |  day. 
Placing  the  bar  after  the  stress,  thus — 

Souls  |  of  po-  |  ets  dead  |  and  gone  |  , 
or, 

The  cur-  |  few  tolls  |  the  knell  |  of  par-  |  ting  day  | 

—is  quite  as  accurate  an  indication  of  a  tune  part  divi- 
sion, but  the  analogy  to  musical  notation,  which  calls  the 
note  that  is  accented,  the  first  one  of  a  measure,  inclines 
some  prosodists  to  make  a  foot  in  verse  always  begin  with 
a  stressed  syllable.8 

In  the  scansions  marked  throughout  the  rest  of  the  book 
we  shall  understand  that  a  bar  placed  before  a  syllable  indi- 
cates that  the  reading  in  question  puts  a  stress  on  that 
syllable. 

The  word  The,  set  off  at  the  beginning  of  the  line  just 
scanned  in  this  way,  has  as  its  parallel  in  music  the  up- 
beat that  very  often  begins  a  piece,  as,  for  instance,  in  the 
following  hymn:4 


... 

A  -wake,  my]  soul,  and  |with  the|sun  Thy  |  dal-ly  |  stage  of     |    du-ty|mn. 


1  For  verse  notation  to  be  as  consistent  as  musical,  all  feet  must  be 
alike  in  having  the  stress  either  always  at  the  beginning  or  always  at 
the  end.  If  we  made  them  different  for  different  kinds  of  verse,  we  should 
have  to  use  stress  marks  as  well  as  bars  to  show  the  difference  between 
|  soiils  of  |  and  |  The  c&r-  \  ;  furthermore  we  should  be  hopelessly  con- 
fused in  considering  scansions  like, 

Hinds  that  the  rod  of  Empire  might  have  swayed, 
or, 

The  16ne  couch  of  his  Everlasting  slelp, 

and  still  bold  to  the  definition  of  foot  given  in  the  'last  chapter.    The 
reasons  for  not  distinguishing  separate  kinds  of  feet  in  iambic  and  tro- 
chaic verse  will  be  found  in  Chapter  VI. 
4  This  is  technically  called  anacrusis. 

20 


SCANSION 

Again,  just  as  in  music  a  piece  may  begin  with  two  un- 
accented notes,  a  line  may  begin  with  two  unstressed 
syllables: 

To  a  ]  green  |  thought  in  a  |  green  |  shade 

(A.  Marvell:    Garden.) 

Though  the  |  heart  be  |  still  as  |  loving, 
And  the  |  moon  be  |  still  as  |  bright. 

(Byron:     We'll  Go  No  More  A-roving.) 

Such  syllables,  being  merely  preparatory  to  the  first  stress, 
are  not  counted  as  part  of  the  series  of  time  divisions; 
i.  e.  there  are  as  many  feet  in  a  line  as  there  are  bars  in  the 
scansion.  When  a  verse  does  not  begin  with  an  unstressed 
syllable — as  do  a  large  proportion  of  English  verses — we 
shall  say  that  it  begins  with  direct  attack,  e.  g. 

|  Come  and  |  trip  it  |  as  you  |  go. 

(Milton:    Allegro.') 

|  Warriors  and  |  chiefs!    Should  the  |  shaft  or  the  |  sword. 

(Byron:    Song  of  Said.) 

When  the  final  foot  of  a  line  is — as  so  often  happens — a 
monosyllable,  it  may  have  the  same  time  value  as  the 
preceding  feet,  or  the  time  may  be  filled  out  by  a  rest — the 
pause  at  the  end  of  the  line,  if  the  reader  makes  this  pause.5 

A  line  that  ends  with  an  unstressed  syllable  is  said  to 
have  a  light  ending,  e.  g. 6 

To  |  be,  or  |  not  to  |  be:  |  that  is  the  |  question. 

(Hamkt,  III,  i.) 

B  Another  way  of  considering  the  final  monosyllable  is  to  count  the 
syllables  before  the  first  stress  in  the  following  line  as  filling  up  the 
time  of  this  final  foot.  This  way  disregards  the  line  unit  in  verse,  e.  g. 

Where  |  throngs  of  |  knights  and  |  barons  |  bold,  In  |  weeds  of  | 
peace  high  |  triumphs  |  hold,  With  |  store  .  .  .  etc.  See  C.  F.  Jacob 
in  the  Sewanee  Review,  July,  1911. 

*  Sometimes  called  a  feminine,  or  weak  ending. 

21 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
We  occasionally  have  a  double  light  ending,  as  in, 

|  Have  you  your  |  father's  |  leave?    What  |  says  Po-  |  looms. 

(Hamlet,  I,  ii.) 

But  |  love  and  |  nature  |  these  are  |  two  more  |  terrible. 

(Tennyson:    Princess.) 

The  conclusions  of  the  first  chapter  show  that  though  the 
time  value  of  the  feet  which  compose  a  line  must  be  sensibly 
equal,  the  number  of  syllables  in  each  foot  may  vary. 
Two  or  three  to  a  foot  are  most  common  in  English  verse:7 

|  Honor,  |  riches,  |  marriage-  |  blessing, 
|  Long  con-  |  tinuance,  |  and  in-  |  creasing, 
|  Hourly  |  joys  be  |  still  up-  |  on  you! 
|  Juno  |  sings  her  |  blessings  |  on  you. 

(The  Tempest,  IV,  i.) 

|  This  is  a  |  spray  the  Bird  |  clung  to, 
|  Making  it  |  blossom  with  |  pleasure, 

|  Ere  the  high  |  tree-top  she  |  sprung  to, 
|  Fit  for  her  |  nest  and  her  |  treasure. 

(Browning:    Misconceptions.) 

|  Often  I  |  think  of  the  |  beautiful  |  town 

That  is  |  seated  |  by  the  |  sea; 
|  Often  hi  |  thought  go  |  up  and  |  down 
The  |  pleasant  |  streets  of  that  |  dear  old  !  town, 

And  my  |  youth  comes  |  back  to  |  me. 

(Longfellow:    My  Lost  Youth.) 

The  final  foot  in  each  line  in  this  last  quotation  ia  mono- 
syllabic. A  foot  of  one  syllable  may  occur  as  well  anywhere 
else  in  the  line,  or  there  may  be  several  in  the  same  line, 
e.g. 

|  Break,  )  break,  [break, 
On  thy  |  cold  gray  |  stones  0,  |  sea! 

(Tennyson.) 

7  These  scansions  represent,  of  course,  merely  the  present  author's 
reading  of  these  lines,  not  the  only  good  reading. 

22 


SCANSION 
Green  |  grow  the  |  rushes,  |  0! 


(Burns.) 


His  |  foe  is  |  fire,  |  fire,  |  fire! 

|  Hark  his  |  hoarse  dis-  |  persing  |  cry. 

(Stephen  Phillips:    Fireman.) 

|  Toad  that  |  under  the  |  cold  |  stone 

(Macbeth.) 

|  Toll  |  for  the  |  brave, 

The  |  brave  that  |  are  no  |  more. 

(Cowper:    Loss  of  the  Royal  George.) 

In  all  these  cases  a  monosyllabic  word  is  made  important 
not  only  by  its  stress  but  also  by  occupying  a  whole  time 
division.  But  one  must  remember  that  a  long  "quantity" 
(i.  e.  prolongation  of  a  syllable)  and  what  we  have  defined 
as  stress  and  accent8  are  not  the  same;  in  these  examples 
all  three  happen  to  coincide.  A  comparison  of  the  two 
following  readings  of  a  line  from  King  Lear  will  bring  out 
this  point: 

B16w  |  winds,  and  j  crack  your  |  cheeks!  f  rage!  |  blow! 
|  Blow  |  winds,  and  |  crack  your  |  cheeks!  |  rage!  I  blow! 

In  both  readings  the  word  Blow  may  receive  the  same  force 
of  voice,  but  in  the  second  the  word  is  prolonged  to  the 
duration  of  a  whole  foot.     The  first  reading  makes  the 
line  pentameter,  the  second,  hexameter.9 
Four  syllables  are  frequently  found  composing  a  foot: 

|  Whirling  like  a  |  windmill  on  a  |  dirty  scud  to  |  lea. 

(Kipling:    Anchor  Song.) 

9  See  above,  p.  13. 

9  Another  way  of  reading  it  as  pentameter  is, 

|  Blow  |  winds,  and  |  crack  your  |  cheeks!  rage!  |  blow! 

This  reading  makes  the  rhythm  move  faster  toward  the  end  of  the  line 

than  either  of  the  others  make  it. 

23 


THE  WRITING  AND   READING  OF  VERSE 

|  Dizzying  and  |  deafening  the  |  air  with  its  |  sound 

(Southey:    Lcdore.) 

\  Baa,  baa,  |  black  shfiep,  |  have  you  any  |  wool? 

(Mother  Goose.) 

There's  a  |  barrel-organ  |  caroling  a-  |  cross  a  g61den  |  street 

(Alfred  Noyes:    Barrel-Organ.) 

Feet  of  more  than  four  syllables  practically  do  not  occur 
in  English  verse,  though  they  are  not  unusual  in  some  of 
the  rhythms  which  occur  in  the  French  alexandrine.  Swin- 
burne's Super  Flumina  Babylonis  is  apparently  intended  to 
be  read  with  a  foot  of  five  syllables  in  each  long  line,  e.  g. 

By  the  |  waters  of  |  Babylon  we  sat  |  down  and  |  wept, 

Remembering  thee, 
That  for  |  ages  of  |  agony  hast  en-  |  dured,  and  slept,10 

And  wouldst  not  see. 

A  possible  reading  of  a  line  in  the  third  stanza  of  Dryden's 
Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day  employs  a  foot  of  even  six 
syllables.  This,  however,  is  a  tour  de  force.11 

The  |  double  double  double  |  beat 
Of  the  |  thundering  |  drum. 

Many  combinations  of  these  different  kinds  of  feet  are 
possible  in  the  same  line.  In  the  following  reading  we  have 
one,  two,  and  three  syllables  to  a  foot: 

The  |  lone  |  couch  of  his  |  ever-  |  lasting  |  sleep. 

(Shelley:    A  lastor.) 

10  These  lines  might  be  read  as  pentameters,  instead  of  hexameters, 
by  putting  light  stresses  on  the  words  we  and  hast,  but  this  reading 
to  be  consistent  would  require  a  light  stress  in  the  same  position  through- 
out the  sixty-four  long  lines  of  the  poem. 

11  Professor  John  Erekine's  ed.  Golden  Treasury.    Intro.   This  gives  a 
fine  rolling  effect  and  keeps  the  prevailing  dimeter  of  the  stanza. 

24 


SCANSION 

In  this  next  line,  if  we  do  not  elide12  the  e  in  shattering,  we 
have  one,  two,  three,  and  four: 

To  |  plunge  in  |  cataract  |  shattering  on  |  black  |  rocks. 

In  the  following,  from  Alfred  Noyes'  Forty  Singing  Seamen, 
we  have  both  four  syllable  and  two  syllable  feet: 

|  Forty  singing  |  seamen  hi  an  |  old  black  |  barque.13 

The  following  two  lines  (as  they  are  usually  read)  have 
pauses  after  the  monosyllabic  feet  to  make  them  fill  the 
same  time  as  the  trisyllabic: 

|  Kentish  Sir  |  Byng  (        )  |  stood  for  his  |  King  (        ) 
|  Bidding  the  |  crop-headed  |  Parliament  |  swing  (        ) 

So  far,  we  have  considered  merely  the  time  relation  of  the 
feet  to  one  another;  nothing  has  been  said  about  the  time 
relation  of  the  syllables  within  a  foot.  This  brings  up  the 
vexed  question  of  Quantity  in  English  verse.  The  difficulty 
of  the  subject  lies  in  the  fact  that  we  easily  confuse  either 
the  accent  or  the  quality  of  a  syllable  with  its  quantity. 
The  distinction  of  terms  which  phoneticians  make  may 
be  illustrated  by  comparing  the  accented  "long  close  o" 
in  homely  with  the  unaccented  "short  close  o"  in  opaque 
and  the  accented  "short  open  o"  in  hotly.  The  difference 
in  quantity  (i.  e.,  duration)  between  the  o  in  homely  and 
that  in  opaque  is  not  hard  to  detect,  but  how  about  the 
duration  of  the  syllable  home  in  different  positions  in  the 
same  sentence?  For  example,  in  the  reading, 

|  Home-keeping  |  youth  have  |  ever  |  homely  |  wits, 

(Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  I,  i.) 

12  See  below,  p.  29. 

13  The  third  foot  here  seems  to  move  slower  than  the  others.    This 
may  be  an  actual  slowing  of  the  rhythm,  relardando,  in  music,  or  the 
natural  effect  of  making  two  syllables  take  the  same  time  as  four. 
It  is  also  to  be  noted  that  emphasis  on  a  syllable  (the  accent  on  black) 
seems  to  lengthen  it. 

25 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 


if  the  feet  are  equal  in  time  value,  does  it  not  seem  probable 
that  the  home  in  Home-keeping  would  be  given  less  time 
than  the  home  in  homely?  The  difference  in  value  of  the 
same  syllable  will  be  even  more  apparent  if  we  change  the 
line  and  read  it, 

|  Home-keeping  |  youth  have  |  home  |  ever  in  |  mind. 

The  fact  seems  to  be  that  the  quantity  of  English  syllables 
may  vary,  to  a  certain  extent,  with  their  position  in  a 
sentence  and  with  the  personal  equation  of  different 
speakers. 

English  ears  are  sensitive  to  differences  in  the  intensity 
(accent)  and  the  quality  of  syllables,  but  are  not  subtle 
in  detecting  slight  differences  in  quantity.14  Our  sense  of 
musical  rhythm  is  extremely  subtle  in  appreciating  fine 
distinctions  in  the  relative  duration  of  the  beats  within  a 
measure,  but  our  sense  of  verse  rhythm  is  not  so  accurate. 
If  it  were,  our  enjoyment  of  verse  might  be  finer.  Many 
people  find  that  the  recording  of  the  feet  in  a  line,  the 
number  of  syllables  in  a  foot,  and  the  specially  accented 
syllables,  constitutes  a  scansion  scheme  adequate  for  their 
study.  They  may  as  well  skip  the  next  few  paragraphs. 

The  usual  method  of  recording  the  time  relation  of 
syllables  within  a  foot  is  that  of  musical  notation.  If  one 
hears  verse  in  three-four  tune  he  will  note  his  scansion 
of  Gray's  line  (according  to  his  reading  of  it),  either  as, 

«   "Where   i  through       the    i  long  -   drawn    i  aisle       and    i  fret  -  ted    |   vault 

f  J    I   J       J  U       J.I  J      J  I  J     J  U 
or 

3  Where  i  through      the   i    long  .   drawn  i    aisle       and       fret  -   ted    i   vault 

4  J       I       J  J    I     J-  J-     I      J  J          J         J     I      J 

or 

14  The  qualities  of  English  sounds  are  considered  in  Chapter  VIII, 
under  tone-color. 

26 


SCANSION 

3  Where      through      the   i   long  -  drawn  i  aisle      and   t  fret  •  ted    i   vault 

4  J  J  J    I     J.          J.     |     J          J     I    J         j  1    J    I 


The  lines, 


Shine  in  my  lord's  grace'and  my  baby's  smile. 

(E.Arnold:    Light  of  Asia.) 

With  all  a  mother's  care:    nevertheless 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

Where  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow, 

(Matthew  Arnold:    Forsaken  Mermaid.) 


might  be  read  in  this  way: 


Shine      In        my      i  Lords 


grace      and      my      t    ba   .   by's    i  smfle 


J     J     J    I  J.      J     J     J  I  J     J  U    * 

Q     With     I  all          a       j  moth  -  ers         i  care:  i  nev  .  er  -  the    i  less 

O  .  I  I  I  I 

j    *  I J  j  J  I J 


«j     Where          the          i  great        winds  i  shore    -    ward  i  htow 

*      J  J  I    J-  J-  I    J-  J-  I    J  i 

Another  recording  system  which  one  not  accustomed  to 
musical  notation  might  find  easier,  would  be  to  take 
arbitrarily  the  number  6  as  a  unit  and  show  the  time 
relation  of  the  syllables  in  terms  of  the  components  of  the 
unit  6,  e.  g.,  6  equals  4  +  2=2  +  4=3  +  3  =2  +  2  +  2. 
The  readings  recorded  above  in  musical  notation  would  be 
given  in  this  way: 16 

|  Where  through  the  |  long-drawn  |  aisle  and  |  fretted  |  vault. 
j      2  2         2|33|42|24|4(2) 

15  If  the  student  is  interested  in  the  system  of  musical  notation  he 
should  see  Lanier's  Science  of  English  Verse,  J.  P.  Dabney's  English 
Versification,  W.  Thompson's  Basis  of  English  Rhythm  (Glasgow:  1904). 

16  The  numbers  in  parentheses  indicate  an  interval  of  silence. 

27 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

|  Shine  in  my  |  lord's  |  grace  and  my  |  baby's  |  smile. 

222|6       |      2       22|42|4(2) 
With  |  all  a  |  mother's  |  care:  |  neverthe-  |  less. 

2  j  4  2 1  4  2  I  4  (2)|  2  2  2  |  4 
|  Where  the  |  great  winds  |  shoreward  |  blow. 
|  4  2  I  3  3  I  3  3  I  4  (2) 

Neither  the  musical  notation  nor  the  figure  notation  can 
represent  a  reading  exactly,  for  the  time  divisions,  one 
must  remember,  are  not  exactly,  only  sensibly  equal. 
Another  difficulty  lies  with  the  representation  of  tri- 
syllabic feet.  The  notation  shine  in  my  is  probably  quite 

2     ~2~2~ 

inexact  for  most  readings  of  the  line  in  which  this  foot 
occurs.  If  we  wished  greater  exactness  we  should  become 
involved  with  cumbrous  fractions,  e.  g. 

Shine  in  my 
~3~  11 

All  we  can  hope  for  in  a  practicable  notation  is  an  indi- 
cation of  the  rhythm  to  which  the  reading  most  nearly 
approaches.  In  general,  through  the  rest  of  the  book,  we 
shall  not  find  a  detailed  notation  necessary  except  to  indi- 
cate some  of  the  more  unusual  kinds  of  verse  rhythm. 
Slight  differences  in  the  reading  of  ordinary  lines  seem  to 
me  questions  of  taste  which  need  not  be  recorded  in  general 
discussions  of  verse.  For  example,  whether  one  read, 

|  Lord  of  all  |  being  |  throned  a-  |  far, 
I     2      2   2   |    4  2    |       4       2|4(2) 

(0.  W.  Holmes:    Sunday  Hymn.) 

or, 

|  Lord  of  all  |  being  |  throned  a-  |  far, 
I     2      2  2    I    2  4    I        4       2|4(2) 

would  probably  escape  the  notice  of  most  listeners,  except 
when  both  readings  could  be  compared.  For  ordinary 

28 


SCANSION 

purposes  we  shall  indicate  our  notations  by  as  simple  means 
as  possible — by  a  use  of  bars  to  mark  the  meter,  and  of  the 
signs  N  and  A  to  mark,  respectively,  light  stresses  and 
extra  accents. 

Two  other  terms  we  may  find  useful  in  discussions  of 
scansion — elision  and  cesura.  Elision  is  either  the  blending 
of  vowels  between  two  words,  or  the  suppression  of  one 
within  a  word,  e.  g. 

Above  the  Aeonian  mount,  while  it  pursues. 
To  set  himself  in  glory  above  his  peers. 

Desperate17  revenge  and  battle  dangerous. 

In  the  age  of  Pope  the  strict  convention  of  the  number 
of  syllables  in  a  line  led  poets  to  indicate  intended  elisions 
with  an  apostrophe: 

On  diff'rent  senses  different  objects  strike. 

(Essay  on  Man.) 

Mr.  Robert  Bridges'  study  of  Milton's  prosody  shows  that 
Milton  had  very  definite  rules  for  his  use  of  elision,  but 
they  were  rules  dictated  purely  by  his  ear.  There  is  no 
necessity  for  rules  of  elision  in  verse,  or,  in  fact,  of  recog- 
nizing elision  at  all.  The  cases  I  have  cited  may  be  read 
as  examples  of  lines  with  feet  of  three  syllables  varying  with 
those  of  two. 

A  cesura  is  a  pause  in  the  metrical  reading  of  a  line. 
There  may  be  one  or  more  cesuras  in  a  line;  a  cesura  may 
come  anywhere  in  a  line,  according  to  the  sense  of  the 
passage.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  time  occupied  by  a 
cesura  lengthens  the  foot  in  which  the  cesura  occurs; 
but,  like  breathing  at  the  end  of  a  measure  in  singing,  the 
pause,  unless  too  great,  merely  suspends  our  sense  of  meter, 
without  breaking  the  scheme  subjectively  established.  This 

17  This,  as  an  elision  of  common  speech,  differs  from  the  two  cases 
of  verse  elision  preceding  it. 

29 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

may  be  shown  by  reading  the  same  line  many  times  with 
pauses  of  varying  length  at  the  cesura.  A  point  will  be 
found  beyond  which  the  line  ceases  to  be  felt  as  a  single 
rhythmic  unit.  The  following  lines  illustrate  the  varia- 
tions in  the  use  of  the  cesura: 

She  had 

A  heart  ||  how  shall  I  say?    ||  too  soon  made  glad, 
Too  easily  impressed;  ||  she  liked  whate'er 
She  looked  on,  ||  and  her  looks  went  everywhere. 
Sir,  'twas  all  one!    ||  My  favor  at  her  breast, 
The  dropping  of  the  daylight  in  the  west.  .   .   . 

(Browning:    My  Last  Duchess.) 

As  one  for  knightly  giusts   ||  and  fierce  encounters  fitt. 
Upon  his  foe,  ||  a  Dragon  horrible  and  stearne. 

(Spenser:    Faery  Queene,  li.) 

With  the  longer  meters,  hexameter,  heptameter,  etc.,  a 
reader  may  prefer  to  divide  the  rhythm  regularly  after  the 
third  or  fourth  foot,  whether  the  sense  requires  a  pause 
there  or  not.  Thus,  the  last  line  quoted  would  be  given  a 
second  cesura  after  Dragon.  If,  however,  this  regularity 
of  position  of  the  cesura  is  insisted  on  with  meters  like 
the  octameter  of  Alfred  Noyes'  Orpheus  and  Eurydice, 
they  merely  break  into  shorter  lines.  The  octameter  can 
be  preserved  by  such  division  as, 

Cloud  upon  cloud,    ||    the  purple  pinewoods  clung  to  the  rich 
Arcadian  mountains, 

followed  by, 

Holy-sweet  as  a  column  of  incense,  ||  where  Eurydice  roamed  and 
sung, 

and  occasionally  varied  by  a  line  like  the  following,  with 
a  pause  after  fleet,  or  fawn,  or  fern,  or  even  no  cesura  at  all : 

30 


SCANSION 

Fair  and  fleet  as  a  fawn  that  shakes  the  dew  from  the  fern  at  break 
of  day. 

The  monotony  of  the  "Poulter's  measure"  of  the  sixteenth 
century  (hexameters  alternating  with  heptameters  ad 
nauseam)  is  caused  by  the  constant  recurrence  of  cesuras 
in  the  same  place,  e.  g. 

The  garden  gives  good  food,  |]  and  ayd  for  leaches  cure: 
The  garden,  full  of  great  delight,  ||  his  master  doth  allure. 
Sweet  sallet  herbs  bee  here,  |j  and  herbs  of  every  kind: 
The  ruddy  grapes,  the  seemly  fruits  ||  bee  here  at  hand  to  find. 

(Tottle's  Miscellany:  Garden.) 

In  pentameter,  the  shifting  of  the  position  of  the  cesura 
from  line  to  line  is  an  important  means  of  avoiding  monotony. 
The  passage  quoted  from  Browning  illustrates  this,  and 
Milton's  masterly  variation  in  this  respect  is  one  of  the 
glories  of  his  blank  verse.  In  the  heroic  verse  of  the  age 
of  Pope,  when  an  arbitrary  number  of  syllables  was  a  strict 
convention,  it  was  felt  necessary  (with  occasional  excep- 
tions) to  make  a  pause  after  the  fourth,  fifth  or  sixth 
syllable  of  a  line;  but  the  importance  of  at  least  so  much 
variety  was  recognized.18  Observe  the  slight  changes  of 
position  of  the  cesura  in  the  following: 

Meanwhile,  ||  declining  ||  from  the  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  ||  his  burning  ray; 
The  hungry  judges  ||  soon  the  sentence  sign, 
And  wretches  hang  ||  that  jurymen  may  dine; 
The  merchant  from  th'  Exchange  1 1  returns  in  peace, 
And  the  long  labors  of  the  toilet  cease. 

(Pope:    Rape  of  the  Lock,  IV.) 

18  Metrists  call  a  cesura  masculine  when  it  comes  after  a  stressed 
syllable,  as  in, 

Too  easily  impressed;  ||  she  liked  whate'er; 
it  is  classed  as  feminine  if  it  comes  after  an  unstressed  syllable,  as  in, 

She  looked  on,  ||  and  her  looks  went  everywhere. 

Whether  a  cesura  is  masculine  or  feminine  is  a  matter  of  very  great 
importance  in  trochaic  and  dactylic  verse.  See  Chapters  XVI  and  XVII. 

31 


CHAPTER  IV 
VERSE  PATTERN — DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

According  to  the  defini  -on  of  meter  upon  which  the 
discussion  so  far  has  been  based,  any  line  which  a  reader 
divides  into  approximately  equal  time  parts  is  verse.  This 
is  the  underlying  principle  of  English  verse,  from  Beowulf 
to  Browning.  Different  periods,  however,  have  developed 
different  conventions  and  different  ornaments  of  verse; 
and  the  English  sense  of  rhythm  has  varied  from  allowing 
extreme  freedom  as  to  the  number  of  syllables  to  a  time 
part,  to  demanding  complete  symmetry  in  this  respect, 
then  back  to  a  position  somewhere  between  these  two 
attitudes.  Here  is  a  scansion  of  a  passage  of  alliterative 
Middle  English  verse.  Following  Professor  Skeat,1  I  have 
considered  each  long  line  as  two  short  ones  (divided  by  a 
point  in  the  manuscript),  though  they  are  printed  as  one. 
If  the  reader  prefers,  they  may  be  regarded  as  long  lines, 
with  the  cesura  indicated  by  the  point. 

In  a  |  somer  |  seson*    Whan  |  soft  was  the  |  sonne, 
I  |  shope  me  in  |  shroudes'    As  I  a  |  shepe  |  were, 
In  |  habite  as  an  |  heremite*    Un-  |  holy  of  |  workes, 
Went  |  wyde  in  this  |  world'    |  Wonderes  to  |  here. 
10  Ac  on  a  |  May  |  mornynge*    On  1  Malverne  |  hulles 
Me  by-  |  f el  a  |  ferly    Of  |  fairy,  me  J  thoughte; 
I  was  |  wery  for- 1  wandered*    And  I  |  went  me  to  |  reste 
Vnder  a  |  brode  |  banke1'    bi  a  |  bornes  |  side, 
And  as  I  |  lay  and  |  lened1'    and  |  loked  in  the  |  wateres, 

1  Ed.  Piers  the  Plowman,  Oxford,  1900. 

8  Professor  Skeat  in  these  two  lines  makes  a  foot  of  Vnder  a  and  an- 
other of  as  I,  thus  giving  three  feet  to  these  lines.  Line  9,  however, 
he  does  not  treat  in  this  way.  I  prefer  to  consider  that  there  are  three 
unstressed  syllables  at  the  beginning  of  all  three  lines.  These  may  be 
regarded  as  corresponding  to  the  free  recitative  that  often  begins  a  chant. 

32 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

20  I  |  slombered  in  a  |  slepyng'    it  |  sweyved  so  |  merye. 

(Piers  the  Plowman,  Prol.) 

Evidently  the  only  principles  of  this  verse  are  that  there 
should  be  two  feet  to  a  line  with  alliteration  in  the  first 
three  stressed  syllables  of  every  two  lines.  The  number  of 
syllables  to  a  foot  is  usually  either  two  or  three;  but  one, 
four,  and  even  five  ("slombered  in  a,"  1.  19)  are  allowable. 
Lines  may  begin  with  direct  attack, 

|  Wonderes  to  |  here,  (line  8) 

or,  with  either  one,  two,  or  three  unstressed  syllables. 

Verse  based  on  such  liberal  principles  (called  tumbling 
verse)  was  written  during  the  Anglo-Saxon  period  and 
during  the  Middle  English  "Alliterative  Revival,"  to 
which  Piers  the  Plowman  belongs;  but  this  irregular  kind 
of  rhythm  has  not  been  in  fashion  since  Langland's  time. 
Two  hundred  years  before  this  revival,  the  native  English 
verse  began  to  be  superseded  by  verse  with  a  regular 
rhythmic  pattern — a  norm  of  two  syllables  to  each  foot. 
This  we  shall  call  Duple  Rhythm.  Later  developed  a  norm 
of  three  syllables  to  the  foot — Triple  Rhythm — but  this  type 
of  verse  did  not  have  a  definitely  recognized  place  until 
late  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Early  in  the  nineteenth 
century  a  third  norm  came  to  be  accepted — Duple-Triple 
Rhythm — a  free  combination  of  the  two  others,  which  has  a 
different  effect  from  either.  Quadruple  Rhythm,  a  norm  of 
four  syllables  to  the  foot,  was  the  last  to  be  recognized, 
and  is  still  comparatively  unusual. 

None  of  these  rhythmic  patterns  was  used  with  an  un- 
varied evenness  at  any  period  of  our  literature.  The 
principle  of  time  equality  in  the  feet  makes  slight  departures 
from  the  pattern  always  possible  without  breaking  the 
established  meter  of  a  poem.  Certain  slight  departures 
from  the  exact  rhythmic  pattern  have  always  been  felt  to 
add  to  the  beauty  of  English  verse,  but  what  these  changes 
may  be,  has  varied  with  different  ages  and  different  schools. 

33 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The   following   passages   exemplify   the   four   types  of 
rhythmic  pattern : 

Duple  Rhythm: 

The  |  curfew  |  tolls  the  |  knell  of  |  parting  |  day, 
The  |  lowing  |  herd  winds  |  slowly  |  o'er  the  |  lea, 
The  |  plowman  |  homeward  |  plods  his  |  weary  |  way, 
And  |  leaves  the  |  world  to  |  darkness  |  and  to  |  me. 

(Gray:    Elegy.) 

Triple  Rhythm: 

The  As-  |  Syrian  came  |  down  like  a  |  wolf  on  the  |  fold, 
And  his  |  cohorts  were  |  gleaming  in  |  purple  and  |  gold; 
jAnd  the  |  sheen  of  their  |  spears  was  like  |  stars  on  the  |  sea, 
When  the  |  blue  wave  r611s  |  nightly  on  |  deep  Gali-  |  lee. 

(Byron:    Hebrew  Melodies.) 

Duple-Triple  Rhythm: 

The  |  wind  b!6ws  |  out  of  the  |  gates  of  the  |  day 
The  |  wind  b!6ws  |  over  the  |  lonely  of  |  heart 
And  the  |  lonely  of  |  heart  is  |  withered  a-  |  way 
While  the  |  fairies  |  dance  in  a  |  place  a-  |  part. 

(W.  B.  Yeats:    Land  of  Heart's  Desire.) 

Quadruple  Rhythm: 

In  the  |  silence  of  the  |  camp  before  the  |  fight, 

When  it's  |  good  to  make  your  |  will  and  say  your  |  prayer, 

You  can  |  hear  my  strtimpty-  \  tumpty  over-  |  night 

Ex-  |  plaining  te"n  to  |'one  was  always  |  fair. 

I'm  the  |  prophet  of  the  |  Utterly  Ab-  |  surd, 

Of  the  |  Patently  Im-  |  possible  and  |  Vain — 

And  |  when  the  Thing  that  |  Couldn't  has  oc-  |  curred, 

Give  me  |  time  to  change  my  |  leg  and  go  a-  |  gain. 

(Kipling:    Song  of  the  Banjo.) 

The  even  rhythmic  pattern  of  the  first  three  examples 
runs  on  continuously;  the  line  division  halts  it  for  an 
instant,  but  does  not  change  it.  In  the  last  passage,  the 

34 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

quadruple  pattern  is  perfect  in  two  of  the  three  feet  of  each 
line;  the  final  monosyllabic  foot  is  followed  by  only  one 
or  two  preliminary  syllables  before  the  first  stress  of  the 
next  line.  This  rhythm  almost  never  occurs  with  perfect 
evenness. 

It  is  clear  that  many  of  the  words  which  demand  at  least 
a  slight  extra  accent  in  the  passage  of  quadruple  rhythm 
would  be  given  a  full  stress  and  mark  a  time  division  in  a 
context  of  some  other  rhythm.  The  quadruple  rhythm 
subordinates  them.  Evidently  syllables  do  not  always  have 
the  same  value  either  in  stress  or  time,  but  can  vary  in  both 
as  the  rhythm  in  which  they  occur  may  demand.  Com- 
pare, for  instance,  the  value  of  spiritual  in  two  lines  of 
In  Memoriam  (LXXXV  and  cxxxi). 

That  |  loved  to  |  handle  |  spiritual  |  strife. 
|  Rise  in  the  |  spiri- 1  tual  1  rock. 

In  one  line  it  occupies  one  foot,  in  the  other  two;  though 
the  normal  rhythm  of  the  poem  in  which  both  lines  occur 
is  duple  tetrameter.3  Again,  compare  the  different  time 
and  stress  values  given  to  the  words  repeated  in  four  lines 
of  Alfred  Noyes'  Flos  Mercatorum.  The  meter  in  this 
poem  varies  from  duple  pentameter  to  quadruple  tetrameter. 

Fetch  |  Whitting-  |  ton!  The  |  lad  must  |  stake  his  |  groat  I 

"A  |  groat!"  cried  |  Whittington,  |  standing  |  there  a-  |  ghast. 

|  Pray  for  the  |  souls  of  |  Richard  |  Whitting-  |  ton, 

Alice,  his  wife,  .    .   . 

|  "Quick,"  she  said,  "0,  |  quick,"  she  said,  "they  |  want  you 

Richard  |  Whittington. " 

Illustrations  of  the  same  thing  may  be  found  even  where 
a  word  is  used  twice  in  a  line:4 

1 T.  S.  Omond:  English  Meter,  p.  20. 

4  The  reader  may  differ  from  my  reading  of  these  lines,  but  if  he  will 
admit  any  of  the  above  scansions  as  even  possible,  the  point  in  question 
will  be  exemplified.  M.  Verrier  (op.  cit.,  p.  79)  has  shown  by  psychologi- 
cal experiments  that  syllables  objectively  vary  in  time  value  accord- 

35 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Un-  |  reverent  |  Gloster!    |  Thou  art  |  rever-  |  end. 

(Henry  F/,l>art  I,~III,  i.) 

And  cor-  |  pore-  |  al  to  |  incor-  |  poreal  |  turn. 

~~  (Paradise  Lost,  V,  413.) 

The  explanation  of  this  change  in  syllabic  value  is  that 
rhythm  is  very  largely  subjective,  so  that  when  it  becomes 
firmly  established  in  the  consciousness  of  the  reader  or 
listener,  the  words  may  occasionally  be  lengthened  or 
shortened,  and  emphasis  suppressed  or  added  to  make  the 
words  fit  the  rhythm.  That  rhythm  is  very  largely  sub- 
jective is  further  indicated  by  the  fact  that  one  can  hear  a 
watch  ticking  in  duple,  triple,  or  quadruple  rhythm  if  one 
actually  tries  to  hear  it  so;  one  may  also  make  the  rhythm 
of  a  train  fit  that  of  a  tune  running  in  one's  head. 

Usually  the  rhythmical  pattern  of  a  poem  ought  to  be 
clearly  established  in  its  first  line.  The  poet  may  then 
be  allowed  to  introduce  any  variation  in  the  number  of 
syllables  to  a  foot,  or  in  strength  of  stresses,  which  does  not 
obliterate  the  original  pattern,  or  set  up  a  new  pattern. 
When  much  variation  is  used  the  strict  pattern  should  be 
often  repeated.  In  a  pentameter  with  duple  rhythm,  one 
trisyllabic  foot  will  not  greatly  change  the  character  of 
the  rhythm,  e.  g. 

Tho'  |  faintly,' |  merrily  |  — far  and  |  far  a-|  way. 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

Two  trisyllabic  feet  in  this  rhythm  are  occasionally  allowed 
by  the  Elizabethans  as, 

ing  to  their  juxtaposition,  even  in  prose.  He  summarizes  his  results  in 
musical  notation  thus: 


:omo  |.fastl_  i  Pwt  .  er       i  yet! —        i  Ffcst  -  er     and     i   fa* 

JH  J-    I  J     -b   I J     rl^J^J)      J 


bit  g 

bitter       g 
bitterly    4 

36 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

£ 

*  •. 

Al-  |  ready  |  Faustus  hath  |  hazarded  |  that  for  ]  me 

(Marlowe:    Dr.  Faustus.) 

The  rhythm  of  such  a  line  we  feel  has  departed  from  the 
duple  norm  and  is  duple-triple.  The  eighteenth  century 
considered  this  degree  of  irregularity  barbarous,  and  even 
the  nineteenth  century  has  generally  eschewed  it.  Such 
changes  in  rhythm  the  modern  ear  finds  acceptable  only 
When,  for  the  sake  of  some  special  effect,  the  poet  is  frankly 
attempting  a  tour  de  force.  Tennyson  is  especially  fond 
of  doing  this,  e.  g. 

Of  |  some  pre-  |  cipitous  |  rivulet  |  to  the  |  wave, 
As  down  the  shore  he  ranged,  or  all  day  long. 

The  |  hollower-  |  bellowing  |  ocean  |  and  a-  |  gain 
The  scarlet  shafts  of  sunrise — but  no  sail. 

(Enoch  Arden.) 

|  Myriads  of  |  rivulets  |  hurrying  |  through  the  |  lawn 
The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms. 

(Princess.) 

Notice  that  in  each  of  these  cases  the  poet  has  steadied  the 
rhythm  by  making  the  line  which  follows  more  regular. 
Alfred  Noyes  has  a  daring  break  in  pattern  for  a  special 
effect  in  Drake  (bk.  iv): 

Like  windswept  withered  leaves  those  little  ships, 

Now  |  hurtled  |  to  the  |  Zenith  and  |  now  |  plunged 

|  Down  unto  |  bottomless  |  gulfs,  were  |  suddenly  |  scattered 

And  whirled  away.     Drake  on  the  Golden  Hind. 

The  frequent  introduction  of  lines  with  a  single  trisyllabic 
foot  into  verse  of  duple  rhythm  is  not  only  allowable,  but 
desirable  for  the  sake  of  variety.  And  we  have  just  seen 
that  lines  with  even  two  trisyllabic  feet  may  occur;  but  if 
several  such  lines  occur  in  succession  our  sense  of  rhythm 
feels  that  a  new  pattern  has  been  introduced.  This  point 

37 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

may  be  illustrated  by  a  passage  from  Tennyson's  Maud. 
It  is  written  in  duple-triple  rhythm,  but  the  separate  lines 
which  compose  it  might  each  be  introduced  into  the 
Idylls  of  the  King  without  seriously  disturbing  the  blank 
verse  norm  (duple  rhythm)  in  which  that  poem  is  written. 
There  they  would  be  single  exceptions  to  the  regular  duple 
rhythm;  in  Maud  they  are  a  part  of  the  freer  duple-triple 
rhythm.  Here  is  the  passage: 

That  an  |  iron  |  tyranny  |  now  should  |  bend  or  |  cease, 
The  |  glory  of  |  manhood  |  stand  on  his  |  ancient  |  height, 
Nor  |  Britain's  |  one  sole  |  God  be  the  |  million-  |  aire: 
No  1  more  shall  |  commerce  be  |  all  in  |  all,  and  |  Peace 
|  Pipe  on  her  |  pastoral  |  hillock  a  |  languid  |  note, 
And  |  watch  her  |  harvest  |  ripen,  her  |  herd  in-  |  crease.1 

When  two  trisyllabic  feet  are  introduced  into  one  line 

6  Lines  like  the  third,  fourth,  and  sixth  with  but  one  ripple  can  of 
course  be  found  very  frequently  in  the  Idylls,  e.  g. 
The  |  sudden  |  trumpet  |  sounded  asj  in  a  |  dream. 

(Last  Tournament.) 

The  second  line  is  very  close  to, 
And  |  many  a  |  glancing  1  plash  and  |  sallowy  |  isle, 

(Ibid.) 
or  even  nearer  to, 

Through  |  many  a  |  league-long  |  bower  he  |  rode.    At  |  length, 

(Ibid) 

(if  bower  be  read  as  a  dissyllable).  The  fifth  line  may  be  read  with  a 
rhythm  almost  the  same  as, 

|  Fled  like  a  |  glittering  |  rivulet  |  to  the  |  tarn. 

(Lancelot  and  Elaine.) 

Cf.  also, 

|  Scaling,  Sir  |  Lancelot  |  from  the  |  perilous  |  nest. 

(Last  Tournament.) 

The  first  line  I  cannot  find  a  parallel  for,  but  its  rhythm  adds  merely 
one  light  syllable  to  the  rhythm  of, 
And  the  |  days  |  darken  |  round  me  1  and  the  |  years 

(Passing  of  Arthur.) 
38 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

of  duple  rhythm,  the  duple  rhythm  is  less  disturbed  if  the 
two  feet  are  not  close  together,  e.  g. 

| Back  to  the  |  gates  of  |  Heaven;  the  |  sulphurous  |  hail. 

(Paradise  Lost,  I,  171.) 

A  line  beginning  with  two  unstressed  syllables  has  a  similar 
effect  to  one  with  a  trisyllabic  foot,  e.  g. 

From  the  |  dread  |  sweep  of  the  |  down-  |  streaming  |  seas. 

(Enoch  Arden.) 

And  the  |  new  sun  |  rose  |  bringing  the  |  new  |  year. 

(Tennyson:    Passing  of  Arthur.) 

These  last  two  examples  also  show  a  combination  of  mono- 
syllabic feet  with  trisyllabic.  This  seems  to  create  a 
balance  between  two  rhythms,  and  pleases  our  ear,  if  the 
line  is  held  steady  by  a  normal  line  preceding  or  following. 
Other  examples  of  this  are: 

|  Just  where  the  |  prone  1  edge  of  the  ]  wood  be-  |  gan. 
|  E'en  to  the  |  last  |  dip  of  the  |  vanishing  |  sail. 

(Enoch  Arden.) 

The  question  of  what  variations  from  the  pattern  are 
allowable  is  to  some  extent  a  matter  of  the  taste  of  an 
individual  ear,  or  of  the  taste  of  an  age.  An  English  bishop 
asked  Pope  to  polish  some  of  Milton,  and  William  Hamilton 
of  Bangor  actually  did  polish  Hamlet's  soliloquy  so  that  it 
began : 

My  anxious  soul  is  tore  with  doubtful  strife, 
And  hangs  suspended  betwixt  death  and  life; 
Life!  death!  dread  objects  of  mankind's  debate; 
Whether  superior  to  the  shocks  of  fate, 
To  bear  its  fiercest  ills  with  stedfast  mind, 
To  nature's  order  piously  resigned, 
Or,  with  magnanimous  and  brave  disdain, 
Return  her  back  th'  injurious  gift  again. 
39 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

What  would  the  eighteenth  century  have  thought  of  some 
of  Browning's  effects,  if  Shakespeare  and  Milton  were  con- 
sidered irregular!  There  is  no  reason  a  priori  that  any 
arrangement  of  syllables  that  is  possible  to  read  in  approx- 
imately equal  time  parts  should  not  please  our  ear  as  it 
did  the  ears  of  the  Saxons,  but  poets  have  accustomed  us 
to  certain  rhythms  and  neglected  others  so  that  we  call 
unusual  ones  bad  verse.  Chaucer  could  write, 

|  Twenty  |  bokes  |  clad  in  1  black  or  |  red 

(Canterbury  Tales,  Prologue,  294.) 

or, 

I  |  mene  of  |  Mark,  |  Mathew,  |  Luk  and  |  John 

(Canterbury  Tales,  Melibeus,  Prologue.) 

in  contexts  of  lines  of  ten  syllables.  Shakespeare  and 
other  Elizabethans  also  used  the  nine  syllable  line  occa- 
sionally, e.  g. 

|  Dear  my  |  lord,  if  |  you  in  your  |  own  |  proof 

(Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  IV,  i,  46.) 

A  |  third  |  thinks  with-  |  out  ex-  |  pense  at  |  all. 

(Henry  VI,  Part  I,  i,  76.)       ] 

Modern  poets,  however,  have  accustomed  our  ears  to 
consider  this  a  blemish,  so  that  when  a  blank  verse  line 
begins  with  direct  attack  there  must  be  three  syllables 
in  the  first  foot,  e.  g. 

I  Guarded  the  |  sacred  |  shield  of  |  Lance-  |  lot 

(Tennyson:    Lancelot  and  Elaine.) 

How  far  allowable  variation  has  gone  in  modern  poetry 
may  be  seen  by  reading  (in  their  contexts)  the  lines  quoteol 
in  the  last  chapter  as  examples  of  lines  with  different  kinds] 
of  feet. 

The  rhythmical  pattern  of  a  line  must  be  clearly  marked 
by  the  poet  if  he  expects  his  verses  to  be  read  as  he  intended* 

40 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

Poe  has  put  it  very  strongly:  "That  rhythm  is  erroneous 
(at  some  point  or  other  more  or  less  obvious)  which  any 
orclinary  reader  can,  without  design,  read  improperly.  It 
is  the  business  of  the  poet  so  to  construct  his  line  that 
the  intention  must  be  caught  at  once."* 

The  lack  of  clearness  of  rhythmical  pattern  in  a  line 
may  cause  it  to  be  read  as  prose,  or  may  very  often  lead 
the  reader  to  change  the  metrical  pattern,  i.  e.  to  divide 
the  line  into  a  meter  that  is  not  consistent  with  the  rest  of 
the  lines  in  the  passage.  For  example,  the  verse, 

How  happy  could  I  be  with  either, 

may  be  read  as  duple  tetrameter  or  triple  trimeter;7  but 
the  context, 

Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away, 

shows  that  the  second  reading  was  intended  by  the  poet. 
Professor  Lewis8  has  amusingly  suggested  that  the  Miltonic 
lines  with  two  light  stresses  distributed  as  in, 

His  ministers  of  vengeance  and  pursuit, 
would  fit  perfectly  into  a  context  of  trimeter  like, 

When  the  Enterprising  burglar  isn't  burgling,' 
And  the  cut-throat  isn't  6ccupied  in  crime, 

(W.  S.  Gilbert:    Pirates  of  Penzance.) 

though  they  may  also  be  read  perfectly  in  the  duple  pen- 
tameter of  Paradise  Lost.  As  the  subjectivity  of  rhythm  is 
very  largely  relied  upon  by  the  poet  to  insure  a  correct 
reading  of  his  verses,  it  is  very  unfair  to  judge  isolated 
lines. 

8  Poe:  Rationale  of  Verse. 
''e.g.  How  |  happy  |  could  I  |  be  with  |  either, 
or, 

How  |  happy  could  |  I  be  with  |  either. 
8  Principles  of  English  Verse,  p.  46. 

41 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Metrical  pattern  (a  regular  number  of  feet  to  each  line) 
may  be  varied  slightly,  just  as  rhythmical  pattern  may. 
Shakespeare  occasionally  introduces  lines  of  two,  three, 
four,  or  six  feet  into  his  pentameter.9  Here  is  one  of  three 
feet,  which  occurs  in  the  middle  of  a  soliloquy: 

\ 

I  see  thee  yet  in  form  as  palpable 
As  This  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshallst  me  the  way  That  I  was  going. 

(Macbeth,  II.) 

This  breaking  the  metrical  pattern  with  a  short  line  is  rarely 
found  except  in  dramatic  verse.  The  introduction  of  a 
hexameter  (alexandrine)  in  rimed  pentameter,  however, 
was  a  very  frequent  trick  of  the  eighteenth  century  poets. 
Radical  changes  in  meter  should  be  intentional  on  the 
part  of  the  poet;  he  should  not  write  lines  of  rhythm  so 
ambiguous  that  his  readers  unconsciously  fall  into  another 
meter.  When  one  reads  the  following  lines  apart  from  their 
context  one  tends  to  make  them  tetrameter: 

Fears  of  the  brave  and  Follies  of  the  wise. 

(Johnson:     Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.) 

Because  Thou  hast  hearkened  to  the  voice  of  Thy  wife, 

(Paradise  Lost,  X,  198.) 

but  they  easily  fall  into  a  pentameter  division  when  read 
in  their  pentameter  contexts: 

In  |  life's  last  |  scene  what  |  prodi-  |  gies  sur-  |  prise, 
|  Fears  of  the  |  brave  and  |  follies  |  6f  the  |  wise! 

On  |  Adam  |  last  thus  |  judgment  |  he  pro-  |  nounced: — 
Be  |  cause  thou  hast  |  hearkened  |  to  the  |  voice  of  thy  [  wife. 

These  seem  to  me  allowable  lines  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
one  might  misread  them  at  first.    The  lines  that  follow 

9  The  commonest  change  in  meter  is  the  introduction  of  the  ten- 
syllable  tetrameter  in  the  pentameter  line.    See  Chapter  XI. 

42 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

below,  however, — though  their  authorship  is  most  distin- 
guished— I  cannot  admire  as  well  written  pentameters. 
T  '<  divide  them  into  five  time  parts  the  prose  accents  of  the 
words  must  be  so  wrenched  that  the  effect  is  very  artificial. 

Light  from  above  from  the  fountain  of  light. 

(Paradise  Lost,  IV,  289.) 

Yet  fall.    Remember  and  fear  to  trangress. 

(Paradise  Lost,  VI,  913.) 

Burned  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit.10 

(Paradise  Lost,  VI,  866.) 

Created  thee  in  the  image  of  God. 

(Paradise  Lost,  VII,  527.) 

You  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  moved  sort. 

(The  Tempest.) 

When  steel  grows  soft  as  the  parasite's  silk. 

(Coriolanus.) 

By  the  waters  of  life  where'er  they  sat. 

(Paradise  Lost,  XI,  79.) 

And  made  him  bow  to  the  gods  of  his  wives 

(Paradise  Regained,  II,  171.) 

Thank  me  no  thankings  nor  proud  me  no  prouds. 

(Romeo  and  Juliet.) 

Illimitable,  insuperable,  infinite. 

(Swinburne:    Elegy  on  Burton.) 

These  lines  show  how  too  great  a  change  in  an  estab- 
lished rhythmic  pattern  may   lead  to  an  ambiguity   in 
meter. 
Sometimes,  in  dramatic  verse,  lines  are  introduced  that 

10  Lowell  (Essay  on  Milton)  suggests  that  the  printer  may  have 
dropped  a  word,  and  emends  the  line  to  read, 

Burnt  after  them  down  to  the  bottomless  pit. 
43 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

probably  are  not  meant  to  scan.  The  following  from 
Romeo  and  Juliet  could  be  read  as  pentameter,  thus: 

|  Day,  |  night,  |  hour,  tide,  |  time,  w6rk,  |  play, 

or,  we  may  consider  that  the  rhythm  is  broken  by  the 
anger  of  the  speaker,  and  read  it  as  prose. 

Verse  pattern  in  modern  poetry  has  been  carried  even 
farther  than  merely  establishing  a  norm  of  a  certain  meter 
and  a  duple,  triple,  or  duple-triple  rhythm.  A  fixed  se- 
quence of  variation  may  be  taken  as  a  pattern,  for  instance, 
the  scheme, 

|xx|xxx|xx|xx 

represents  the  rhythmic  pattern  of  Swinburne's  Lines  on  the 
Death  of  Trelaumey,  i.  e.,  each  line  begins  with  direct  at- 
tack and  the  second  foot  of  each  is  always  trisyllabic: 

|  Winds  that  |  warred  with  the  |  winds  of  |  morning, 
Storm-winds  rocking  the  red  great  dawn, 
Close  at  last,  and  a  film  is  drawn 

Over  the  eyes  of  the  storm-bird,  scorning 

Now  no  longer  the  loud  wind's  warning, 
Waves  that  threaten  or  waves  that  fawn. 

This  elaborate  symmetry  of  arrangement  makes  a  sort  of 
verse-tune.  It  is,  of  course,  a  necessity  in  verse  written 
in  imitation  of  classical  rhythms.  A  fixed  and  definite 
pattern  is  characteristic  of  nearly  all  Greek  and  Latin 
measures.  The  Lesser  Sapphic  stanza,  for  example,  is 
composed  of  three  pentameter  lines  concluded  by  one 
dimeter.  The  pentameters  begin  with  direct  attack  and 
have  a  trisyllabic  ripple  in  the  middle,  e.  g. 

|  Saw  the  |  white  im-  |  placable  |  Aphro-  |  dite, 
|  Saw  the  |  hair  un-  |  bound  and  the  |  feet  un- 1  sandalled 
Shine  as  the  fire  of  sunset  on  western  waters; 
Saw  the  reluctant 

44 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

Feet,  the  straining  plumes  of  the  doves  that  drew  her, 
Looking  always,  looking  with  necks  reverted, 
Back  to  Lesbos,  back  to  the  hills  whereunder 
Shone  Mitylene. 

(Swinburne:    Sapphics.) 

This  adherence  to  a  fixed  rhythmic  pattern  is  not  only 
characteristic  of  classical  imitations11  in  English,  but  of 
many  other  exquisitely  musical  poems  of  Swinburne  and  a 
number  of  other  modern  poets.12  A  simple  pattern  is  that 
of  William  Watson's  England  My  Mother,  a  poem  of  twenty- 
four  stanzas,  all  exactly  following  the  arrangement  of  the 
duple-triple  rhythm  of  the  first,  without  variation: 

|  x  x  x  |  x  x 

|  England  my  |  mother 
|  Wardress  of  |  waters 
|  Builder  of  |  peoples 
|  Maker  of  |  men. 

The  opening  of  Swinburne's  Channel  Passage  has  a  more 
elaborate  "tune."  The  second  and  sixth  foot  of  each 
octameter  line  is  trisyllabic,  the  others  dissyllabic,  and  each 
line  begins  with  direct  attack: 

|  Forth  from  |  Calais,  at  |  dawn  of  |  night,  when  |  sunset  |  summer 

on  |  autumn  |  shone, 
Fared  the  steamer  alert  and  loud  through  seas  whence  only  the 

sun  was  gone: 
Soft  and  sweet  as  the  sky  they  smiled,  and  bade  man  welcome: 

a  dim  sweet  hour 
Gleamed  and  whispered  in  wind  and  sea,  and  heaven  was  fair  as 

a  field  in  flower. 

Kipling   is    one    of   our   greatest    masters    of   rhythmic 

11  For  other  examples  see  Tennyson's  To  Milton  (hendecasyllabics), 
Clough's  Hope  evermore  and  believe  (elegiacs),  Hovey's  Taleisin  [pp. 
27-28]  (choriambics),  and  Rupert  Brooke's  Choriambics. 

u  More  of  these  patterns  are  analyzed  in  the  chapter  on  duple-triple 
rhythm.  See  Chapter  XVIII. 

45 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

technique.  Many  of  his  poems  have  as  clear  cut  and 
definite  a  rhythm  as  if  they  were  accompanied  by  a  musical 
setting.  He  has  said  that  he  considers  a  large  part  of  his 
work  over  when  he  once  has  the  "tune"  of  his  poem  in  his 
head.  The  pattern  of  the  First  Chantey  is  a  good  example 
of  his  finished  technique.  It  gains  its  peculiar  effect  from 
the  checking  of  the  flow  of  the  triple  rhythm  by  a  mono- 
syllabic foot  always  occurring  before  the  cesura  in  the 
middle  of  the  line: 

|  Mine  was  the  |  woman  to  |  me,  |  darkling  I  |  found  her; 
|  Haling  her  |  dumb  from  the  |  camp,  |  held  her  and  |  bound  her. 
|  Hot  rose  her  |  tribe  on  our  |  track  [  ere  I  had  |  proved  her: 
|  Hearing  her  |  laugh  in  the  |  gloom,  |  greatly  I  |  loved  her. 

Compare  the  somewhat  similar  pattern  of  Longfellow's 
Skeleton  in  Armor: 

|  Once  as  I  |  told  in  glee 
|  Tales  of  the  |  stormy  sea, 
|  Soft  eyes  did  |  gaze  on  me, 

|  Burning  yet  |  tender; 
|  And  as  the  |  white  stars  shine, 
|  On  the  dark  |  Norway  pine, 
|  On  that  dark  |  heart  of  mine 

|  Fell  their  soft  |  splendor. 

Longfellow  has  borrowed  his  rhythmic  and  stanzaic  pattern 
from  Drayton's  Ballad  of  Agincourt,  which  Tennyson  also 
used  for  his  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade.  Another  inter- 
esting effect  of  Kipling's  is  the  following  combination  of 
duple  with  quadruple  rhythm: 

|  Coast-wise — |  cross-seas — |  round  the  wdrld  and  |  back  again 
j  Where  the  flaw  shall  |  head  us  or  the  |  full  Trade  |  suits— 
|  Plain-sail — |  storm-sail — |  lay  your  bdard  and  |  tack  again 
And  |  that's  the  way  we'll  |  pay  Paddy  |  Doyle  for  his  |  boots! « 

11  Note  that  the  dissyllabic  feet  have  extra  accents.   See  above,  p.  25, 
note  13. 

46 


VERSE  PATTERN— DUPLE  AND  TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

Sometimes  a  poet  may  employ  in  the  same  poem  a  number 
of  different  line  patterns  to  which  he  recurs  from  time  to 
time  to  vary  the  music  of  his  verse.  Alfred  Noyes'  Barrel- 
Organ  is  a  striking  example: 

There's  a  |  barrel-organ  |  carolling  a-  |  cross  a  golden  |  street 

In  the  |  City  as  the  |  sun  sinks  |  low; 
And  the  music's  not  immortal;  but  the  world  has  made  it  sweet 

And  fulfilled  it  with  the  sunset  glow; 

And  it  pulses  through  the  pleasures  of  the  City  and  the  pain 
That  surrounds  the  singing  organ  like  a  large  eternal  light; 
And  they've  given  it  a  glory  and  a  part  to  play  again 

In  the  |  Symphony  that  |  rules  the  day  and  |  night. 

There  are  three  types  of  line  here:  five  are  tetrameters 
with  four  syllables  in  three  feet  and  one  in  the  last;  two 
are  trimeters  with  four  syllables  in  the  first  foot,  two 
in  the  second,  and  one  in  the  last;  and  the  final  line 
is  a  trimeter  with  four  syllables  in  two  feet  followed  by  a 
monosyllabic  ending.  All  the  lines  begin  with  two  un- 
stressed syllables.  The  combination  of  eight  of  these  lines 
makes  a  larger  rhythmical  pattern,  the  stanza.  Eleven  of 
the  stanzas  of  the  poem  are  made  up  of  slightly  different 
combinations  of  the  three  types  of  rhythm  in  this  first 
stanza.  Then  there  are  two  other  types  of  stanza  occa- 
sionally interspersed,  of  totally  different  rhythms  that 
make  pleasing  changes  in  the  music  of  the  poem.  One 
is  composed  of  duple  tetrameter  alternating  with  tri- 
meter: 

And  |  there  La  \  Travi-  \  ata  \  sighs 

A-  |  nother  |  sadder  |  song; 
And  there  II  Trovatore  cries 

A  tale  of  deeper  wrong; 
And  bolder  knights  to  battle  go 

With  sword  and  shield  and  lance, 
Than  ever  here  on  earth  below 

Have  whirled  into — a  dance! 
47 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  other  form  of  stanza  is  composed  of  duple  octameter 
alternating  with  heptameter:14 

Go  |  down  to  |  Kew  in  |  lilac-  |  time,  in  I  lilac- 1  time,  in  |  lilac- 1  time; 

Go  down  to  Kew  in  lilac-time  (it  isn't  far  from  London!) 

And  you  shall  wander  hand  in  hand  with  love  hi  Summer's 

wonderland; 
Go  down  to  Kew  in  lilac-tune  (it  isn't  far  from  London!) 

The  poem  with  the  exception  of  four  or  five  lines  out  of  a 
total  of  166  is  composed  on  the  seven  pattern  lines  pointed 
out,  arranged  in  larger  patterns,  or  stanzas. 

The  reader  who  is  interested  should  study  a  collection 
like  the  Oxford  Book  of  Verse  to  understand  the  manifold 
possibilities  of  metrical  and  rhythmical  patterns  that  have 
been  used  by  English  poets. 

14  One  might  increase  the  tempo  of  this  and  read  it  as  quadruple 
tetrameter: 
Go  |  down  to  Kew  in  |  lilac-time,  in  |  lilac-time,  in  |  lilac-time. 


48 


CHAPTER  V 

PROSE  AND  VERSE* 

Several  times  in  the  preceding  pages,  "a  prose  reading" 
of  a  passage  has  been  mentioned  as  something  different  from 
"a  verse  reading."  Before  going  further  with  the  discussion 
of  verse  we  shall  have  to  determine  if  possible  what  the 
chief  distinctions  are — from  the  point  of  view  of  rhythm — 
between  prose  and  verse. 

Will  the  reader  be  patient  enough  to  read  the  following 
passage  of  prose,  trying  to  decide  upon  which  syllables  he 
puts  prominent  accents? 

Likewise  had  he  served  a  year  on  board  a 
merchantman,  and  made  himself  full  sailor; 
and  he  thrice  had  plucked  a  life  from  the 
dread  sweep  of  the  down-streaming  seas :  and 
all  men  looked  upon  him  favourably.  He 
purchased  his  own  boat,  and  made  a  home 
for  Annie,  neat  and  nestlike,  half  way  up 
the  narrow  street. 

Now  what  is  the  difference  between  the  passage  as  you 
just  read  it  and  as  you  read  it  when  divided  into  lines  of 
verse  as  follows? 

Likewise  had  he  served  a  year 
On  board  a  merchantman,  and  made  himself 
Full  sailor;  and  he  thrice  had  plucked  a  life 
From  the  dread  sweep  of  the  down-streaming  seas: 
And  all  men  looked  upon  him  favourably. 

1  Portions  of  this  chapter  have  already  appeared  in  the  Sewanee 
Review  (Apr.,  1918)  in  an  article,  "The  Rhythms  of  Prose  and  of  Free 
Verse." 

49 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

He  purchased  his  own  boat  and  made  a  home 
For  Annie,  neat  and  nestlike,  half  way  up 
The  narrow  street. 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

As  soon  as  we  see  the  passage  printed  in  this  form  we  urn 
consciously  assume  that  it  is  written  for  verse,  and  feel 
that  we  are  reading  it  differently.  We  instinctively  try 
to  arrange  the  paragraph  in  a  kind  of  pattern  which  we  did 
not  give  it  before.  Each  line  is  divided  into  five  apparently 
equal  time  divisions,  and  the  greater  number  of  the  divisions 
are  read  with  two  syllables  each.  That  is,  blank  verse  has 
an  ideal  pattern  of  duple  rhythm  repeated  five  times  in  each 
line,  and  the  poet  must  fit  his  thought  to  this  ideal  scheme. 
But  the  usual  grammatical  association  of  the  words  that 
express  his  thought  have  a  rhythm  of  their  own — a  prose 
rhythm.  This  does  not  exactly  fit  the  ideal  rhythmical 
scheme  of  verse.  When  we  read  verse  we  are  conscious  of 
a  struggle  between  these  two  forces.  For  instance,  a  reader 
of  the  prose  passage  might  read, 

oh  bo&rd  a  merchantman  and  ma'de  himself 

with  three  accents  and  three  time  divisions,  but  when  the 
same  words  occur  in  blank  verse  he  would  probably  give 
more  value  to  the  syllables  man  and  self,  or  even,  if  he  chose, 
stress  them  slightly,  to  divide  the  words  into  five  apparently 
equal  time  parts,  thus: 2 

On  board  a  merchantman  and  m£de  himself. 

Again,  the  words  of  the  fifth  line  would  probably  be  read  as 
prose  in  this  manner: 

*  A  "light  stress"  (see  above,  p.  13)  is  merely  a  point  at  which  a  time 
division  of  verse  may  occur.  It  need  not  receive  special  force  of  voice, 
but  merely  a  slightly  greater  time  value.  In  the  present  example  the 
question  is  whether  we  read  the  syllables  merchantman  and  in  the 
same  time  as  board  a,  or  in  twice  the  time,  i.  e.,  whether  we  make  them 
one  foot  or  two. 

50 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 
And  £11  me"n  Io6ked  upon  him  favourably; 
and  as  verse  in  this  manner: 

And  all  men  Io6ked  updn  him  favourably 

And  |  all  m£n  |  looked  up-  |  on  him  |  favoura-  |  bly. 

The  accent  on  men,  which  is  not  required  by  the  ideal  verse 
rhythm,  does  not  interfere  with  the  division  into  five  time 
parts.  The  prose  phrase,  "and  made  a  hdme  for  Annie," 
one  can  read,  if  he  choose,  accenting  but  two  syllables  out 
of  seven,  but  when  the  same  phrase  is  read  in  a  context 
of  verse,  the  rhythmical  pattern  subjectively  established 
leads  one  to  give  a  "light  stress"  to  the  syllable  made. 

Sometimes  the  prose  rhythm  is  so  marked  that  it  will  not 
yield  to  the  ideal  verse  rhythm.  The  phrase, 

From  the  dredd  swee"p  of  the  d6wn-streaming  seas 

would  probably  be  read  by  most  people  in  the  same  way 
either  as  verse  or  as  prose.  We  still  feel  five  apparently 
equal  time  divisions,  but  the  rhythm  is  no  longer  evenly 
duple.  Our  ear,  however,  accepts  this  reading  as  an  agree- 
able change  from  too  constant  a  regularity. 

Verse,  then,  has  an  ideal  pattern,  very  largely  subjective, 
of  meter  and  rhythm,  to  which  the  poet  must  fit  his  thought. 
If  the  words  fit  into  the  pattern  too  perfectly,  the  verse  is 
monotonous;  good  verse  has  a  constant  struggb  between 
the  sense  of  the  words  as  brought  out  in  the  prose  reading, 
and  the  ideal  metrical  and  rhythmical  pattern  that  must  be 
felt  in  the  verse  reading.  In  this  struggle,  it  is  the  yielding 
now  of  one  force,  now  of  the  other,  which  gives  variety  to 
fixed  verse.  Prose,  of  course,  having  no  such  ideal  frame- 
work, can  have  no  struggle  between  form  and  thought; 
variety  in  prose  must  come  from  constant  changes  in  the 
rhythm  itself. 

Words  arranged  in  long  stretches  of  perfectly  even  rhyth- 
mical pattern  will  make  monotonous  verse  or  monotonous 

51 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

prose.  The  following  passage,  for  example,  is  almost  with- 
out variation : 

And  gabbling  ducks,  rejoicing  on  the  surface,  clap  their  wings; 
whilst  wheeling  round  in  airy  wanton  flights,  the  glossy  pigeons 
chase  their  sportive  loves,  or  in  soft  cooings  tell  then*  amorous  tale.* 

This  makes  very  bad  prose  and  not  much  better  verse,  for 
the  words  fit  almost  perfectly  into  the  ideal  pattern;  there  is 
practically  no  struggle  of  rhythmic  forces.  The  reader 
would  not  have  the  slightest  difficulty  in  dividing  the  passage 
as  printed  above,  into  line  lengths,  as  it  was  written,  with 
pauses  at  the  end  of  each. 

Prose  has  rhythm  as  well  as  verse,  though  prose  rhythm 
is  more  irregular,  and  in  the  ordinary  kinds  of  writing,  more 
difficult  to  perceive.  In  both  there  is  an  approach  to  equality 
of  tune  intervals  between  stresses,  but  we  are  seldom  con- 
scious of  this  equality  in  prose  reading.  We  may  see  evi- 
dence of  this  instinctive  attempt  to  make  equal  the  time 
divisions  between  accented  syllables  in  prose,  in  our  reading 
of  the  beginning  of  the  passage  we  discussed  first.  When 
we  read, 

likewise  had  he  served  a  year  on  board  a 
m6rchantman  and  made  himself  full  sailor, 

we  huddle  together  the  syllables  likewise  had  he  and  mer- 
chantman and,  in  a  tendency  to  pronounce  them  in  the  same 
time  as  served  a.  Whether  this  equality  is  as  nearly  exact 
as  it  is  in  verse  or  in  music  may  be  questioned;  there  is 
merely  a  tendency  toward  it.4  It  probably  approaches  closer 

•Robert  Dodsley:  Agriculture:  A  Poem, 

*  Our  tendency  toward  rhythmic  utterance  is  further  evident  in  the 
shifting  of  accent  in  a  few  dissyllabic  words  which  allow  it.  For  example, 
in  giving  an  address  we  say, 

One  fifteen  Broadwdy, 
but  we  change  the  accent  when  we  say, 

Fifteen  me"n  took  the  Broddway  car. 

Cf.,  also,  they  sat  outside:  An  a&tside  passenger;  He  went  down  stairs: 
A  ddwnstairs  room;  Among  the  Chinese:  A  Chinese  lantern. 

52 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

to  exactness  in  speeches  and  sermons  than  in  ordinary  con- 
versation. 

The  chief  differences,  then,  between  fixed  verse5  and 
prose  are  that,  though  both  may  approach  an  equality  in 
time  divisions,  verse  has  distinct  groups  of  time  divisions, 
which  we  call  lines;  and  the  divisions  in  verse  must  have 
some  regular  agreement  as  to  the  number  of  syllables  in 
each — i.  e.,  must  have  a  rhythmical  pattern.  ^ 

An  analysis  of  one  more  passage  may  make  these  points 
clearer: 

And  Bame  but  sniggered,  "Why,  of  course, 
there's  good  in  all  men;  and  the  best  of  us 
will  make  mistakes." 

"But  no  mistake  in  this,"  said  Kit,  "or 
all  together  we  shall  swing  at  Tyburn — who 
knows  what  may  leap  to  light? — You  under- 
stand? No  scandal!" 

"Not  a  breath!" 

So  in  dead  silence,  Master  Richard  Bame 
went  out  into  the  darkness  and  the  night. 

The  colloquial  and  dramatic  nature  of  this  makes  one  read 
it  without  trying  to  give  it  a  regular  rhythm,  but  it  can  be 
made  to  scan  perfectly,  when  read  as  verse: 

.   .   .     and  Bame  but  sniggered,  "Why,  of  course, 
There's  good  in  all  men;  and  the  best  of  us 
Will  make  mistakes."    "But  no  mistake  in  this," 
Said  Kit,  "or  who  knows  what  may  leap  to  light? — 
You  understand?    No  scandal!"    "Not  a  breath!" 
So,  in  dead  silence,  Master  Richard  Bame 
Went  out  into  the  darkness  and  the  night, 

(Alfred  Noyes:    A  Coiner  of  Angels.) 

The  reason  that  the  passages  chosen  thus  far  for  illus- 
tration are  somewhat  colloquial  in  character,  is  that  the  dif- 

6  That  is.'all  verse  which  is  not  "free,"  or  "vers  libre."  See  below, 
pp.  65  jf. 

53 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

ference  between  the  usual  diction  of  verse  and  that  of  simple 
prose  might  add  a  confusing  element  to  a  discussion  purely 
of  rhythm.  In  such  passages  as  that  just  quoted,  the  subject 
matter,  and  therefore  the  diction,  is  exactly  that  of  ordinary 
prose.  Passages  of  greater  poetry  may  be  treated  in  the 
manner  of  the  specimens  above,  to  prove  the  same  point. 
When  Milton's  verse  is  printed  as  prose,  the  reader  who  does 
not  recognize  the  passage  will  make  it  sound  like  the  splen- 
did prose  of  Milton's  century,  e.  g. 

But  what  power  of  mind,  foreseeing  or 
presaging,  from  the  depth  of  knowledge  past 
or  present,  could  have  feared  how  such  united 
force  of  gods,  how  such  as  stood  like  these, 
could  ever  know  repulse?  For  who  can  yet 
believe,  though  after  loss,  that  all  these 
puissant  legions,  whose  exile  hath  emptied 
Heaven,  shall  fail  to  reascend? 

(Paradise  Lost,  I,  626  ff.) 

The  fact  that  good  verse  may  be1  read  as  prose  supports 
the  idea,  suggested  in  the  previous  chapters,  that  meter  and 
rhythmical  pattern  are  to  a  certain  extent  subjective.  When 
an  ideal  rhythmic  scheme  becomes  subjectively  established 
in  the  "ear"  of  the  reader,  a  large  number  of  slight  liberties 
may  be  taken  with  the  usual  prose  value  of  syllables  and  with 
the  emphasis  of  them,  in  order  to  make  them  fit  the  scheme. 

Suppose  we  reverse  our  last  experiment,  and  try  to  turn 
ordinary  prose  into  verse  by  merely  dividing  it  into  lines  and 
superimposing  a  rhythmical  pattern.  Here  are  a  few  sen- 
tences from  the  morning  paper: 

The  Navy  football  squad,  accompanied  by 
the  coaches  and  several  academy  officers, 
arrived  in  this  city  last  night  and  are  at  the 
Hotel  Vanderbilt.  With  the  party  came  the 
Navy  goat,  the  midshipmen's  mascot. 

By  adding  some  light  stresses  we  can  impose  a  pattern  on 

54 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

this  for  a  few  phrases.  We  might  even  divide  it  into  lines 
of  verse,  but  the  lines  will  be  of  different  meters  and  dif- 
ferent rhythmical  patterns.  They  might  each  fit  well 
enough  in  other  verse  contexts,  but  they  do  not  agree  with 
one  another  as  they  stand.  One  possibility  would  be: 

The  |  Navy  |  football  |  squad  ac-  |  companied  |  by 

The  1  coaches  and  |  several  a-  |  cademy  |  officers, 

AT-  |  rived  in  this  |  city  last  |  night 

|  And  are  |  at  the  |  Hotel  |  Vander-  |  bilt. 

j  With  the  |  party  |  came  the  |  Navy  |  goat, 

The  |  midshipmen's  |  mascot. 

Here  we  have  duple  pentameter,  triple  tetrameter,  triple 
trimeter,  two  lines  of  duple  pentameter,  and  one  of  dimeter, 
but  the  combination  is  not  very  happy. 

Verse,  then,  can  be  read  as  prose,  but  prose  cannot  be 
read  as  verse,  except  for  rare  short  passages.  Good  verse 
has,  in  fact,  the  characteristics  of  good  prose,  with  other 
qualities  added. 

The  distinction  between  the  reading  of  prose  and  of  verse 
can  be  carried  still  further,  for  there  are  differences  besides 
those  already  brought  out.  The  lack  of  a  definite  rhythmical 
pattern,  the  jumping  from  accented  syllable  to  accented 
syllable  and  slurring  whatever  is  between,  causes  constant 
changes  in  tempo  in  prose  reading.  The  general  tempo  of 
average  prose  reading,  or  conversation,  is  somewhat  faster 
than  that  of  average  verse  reading.6  Most  readers  would, 
in  addition,  bring  out  differences  in  intensity  of  emphasis 
and  of  pitch  in  prose  and  verse  reading.  Prose  has  certainly 
a  much  wider  range  in  both  these  respects.7  All  these  ele- 

*  This  would  be  true  even  if  the  time  between  two  stresses  were  the 
same  in  a  given  prose  reading  and  a  verse  reading,  for  a  passage  of  verse 
of  some  length  is  divided  into  more  time  parts  than  the  same  passage 
read  as  prose.  The  reader  may  count  these  in  his  own  reading  of  the 
passage  at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter. 

7  Professor  F.  N.  Scott,  in  a  very  interesting  paper  ("Scansion  of 
Prose  Rhythm,"  Publications  of  Modern  Language  Association,  1905, 

55 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

ments — lack  of  rhythmical  pattern  and  metrical  pattern 
(i.  e.,  the  line  unit),  and  a  greater  variety  in  tempo,  emphasis, 
and  pitch — tend  to  obscure  the  time  divisions  in  prose  so 
that  we  do  not  perceive  them.  Therefore  we  cannot  feel 
from  a  reading  of  ordinary  prose  the  increased  emotional 
effect  which  a  consciousness  of  rhythm  gives  to  language. 

There  is,  however,  a  kind  of  fine  dignified  prose  which 
has  an  emotional  quality  and  a  perceptible  rhythm.  The 
difference  between  the  usual  reading  of  the  prose  of  the  news- 
paper and  the  solemn,  measured  cadences  of  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  or  the  Authorized  Version  of  the  Bible  is  easy  to 
perceive  but  difficult  to  analyze.  The  following  passage 
from  Ecclesiastes  is  a  good  example  of  "rhythmical  prose": 

Remember  n6w  thy  Creator  in  the  days 
of  thy  yoiith,  when  the  eVil  days  come 
n6t  nor  the  ye&rs  draw  nfgh  when  thou 
shalt  e&y,  I  haVe  no  pleasure  fn  them. 

The  first  two  words  in  my  own  reading  of  the  passage 
start  a  duple  rhythm;  from  thy  to  evil  (with  the  exception 
of  one  foot)  is  in  triple  rhythm;  the  rest  of  the  sentence, 
with  the  exception  of  one  foot,  is  in  duple  rhythm.  "Rhyth- 
mical prose,"  then,  we  may  say,  has  a  slightly  varied  pattern, 
which,  in  general,  is  not  superimposed  by  the  ^addition  of 
light  stresses,  but  which  is  brought  out  by  the  usual  accent 
of  the  words.8  There  is  no  struggle  between  the  thought  and 
the  superimposed  form.  There  is,  too,  in  any  good  reading 
of  such  passages  as  the  above  from  the  Bible,  a  dignified 
measured  cadence,  an  equality  of  time  divisions  between 

20: 707),  finds  the  rhythm  of  prose  dependent  chiefly  upon  changes  in 
pitch;  and  that  of  verse  dependent  upon  equality  of  time  parts  marked 
by  stress.  He  scans  sentences  of  prose  in  phrase  waves  of  rising  and 
falling  pitch. 

8  The  present  writer,  in  recording  his  own  reading  of  the  passage  just 
quoted,  puts  a  stress  on  thou,  have,  and  in.  As  I  have  heard  several 
readers  do  this,  I  conclude  there  is  a  slight  tendency  to  make  the  rhythm 
even. 

56 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

the  stressed  syllables.  To  make  this  clear,  compare  your 
reading  of  the  passage  just  quoted  with  the  following  piece 
of  prose: 

Be  sure  to  go  to  the  harbor  at  the  time  of 
the  race,  when  the  college  men  are  there,  for 
the  town  is  full  of  fun  and  life,  though  some- 
what noisy  also. 

The  average  reading  of  the  two  passages  will  have  a  totally 
different  effect,  and  yet  the  distribution  of  accented  and 
slurred  syllables  is,  in  my  own  reading,  exactly  the  same 
in  both  sentences.  This  may  be  made  more  evident  by 
printing  them  side  by  side : 

Re-  |  member  |  now  thy  Cre-  |  ator  in  the 
Be  |  sure  to  |  go  to  the  |  harbor  at  the 

days  of  thy  |  youth,  when  the  |  evil  |  days  come 
time  of  the  |  race,  when  the  |  college  |  men  are 

not,  nor  the  |  years  draw  |  nigh  when  |  thou  shalt 
there,  for  the  |  town  is  |  full  of  |  fun  and 

say,  I  |  have  no  |  pleasure  |  in  them, 
life,  though  |  somewhat  |  noisy  |  also. 

It  is  true  that  the  succession  of  sounds,  what  is  called 
tone-color,  is  not  at  all  the  same,  but  the  biblical  passage 
has  no  words  that  are  unusual,  or  remarkably  beautiful 
in  themselves,  and  the  other  sentence  is  at  least  free  from 
harsh  effects. 

This  comparison  indicates  that  what  we  call  "rhythmic 
prose"  does  not  primarily  depend  for  its  effect  upon  a  regu- 
larity of  rhythmic  pattern,  though  the  pattern  does,  of  course, 
determine  the  particular  character  of  the  rhythm.  The  ideas 
of  these  two  passages  seem  to  require  different  readings. 
The  emotional  quality  of  one  impels  us  to  give  it  a  measured 
cadence,  to  make  the  time  divisions  of  our  reading  percepti- 
bly equal.  The  lack  of  this  quality  in  the  sentence  which 

57 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

merely  conveys  information  makes  us  fail  to  give  it  a  meas- 
ured cadence,  or  even  to  bring  out  distinctly  the  rhythmic 
pattern. 

That  emotional  content  rather  than  rhythmic  pattern  is 
the  important  element  in  "rhythmic  prose"  may  be  brought 
out  further  by  comparing  a  great  sentence  of  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  that  has  no  evenly  rhythmical  pattern,  with  a 
sentence  of  somewhat  less  impressive  purport.  The  distribu- 
tion and  the  grouping  of  the  stressed  and  slurred  syllables 
of  both  passages  is,  in  the  reading  of  the  present  writer, 
identical. 

But  the  iniquity  of  oblivion  blindly  scat- 
tereth  her  poppy,  and  deals  with  the  mem- 
ory of  men  without  distinction  to  merit 
of  perpetuity; 

(Urn  Burial.) 

And  the  performer  on  the  melodeon  glad- 
ly satisfied  his  hearers,  and  •,  played  with  a 
glorious  contempt  of  the  requirements  of 
rhythmical  sensitivity. 

But  the  in-  |  iquity  of  ob-  |  livion  |  blindly 

And  the  per-  |  former  on  the  me-  |  lodeon  |  gladly 

|  scattereth  her  |  poppy,  and  |  deals  with  the 
|  satisfied  his  |  hearers,  and  |  played  with  a 

|  memory  of  |  men  without  dis-  |  tinction  to 
|  glorious  con-  |  tempt  of  the  re-  |  quirements  of 

|  merit  of  perpe-  |  tuity.9 
|  rhythmical  sensi-  |  tivity. 

Here  again,  the  chief  difference  in  the  unforced  reading  of 
the  two  sentences  seems  to  be  in  the  greater  evenness  of 
the  time  divisions  into  which  our  utterance  naturally  falls 

9  If  the  reader  does  not  agree  with  the  indicated  readings  he  can  try 
the  same  experiment  for  himself  by  writing  some  newspaper  prose 
that  is  accented  in  a  way  that  corresponds  to  his  own  reading  of  any 
fine  passage  from  the  Bible. 

58 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

because  of  the  dignity  of  sentiment  in  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 
The  manner  of  reading  the  two  passages  under  discussion 
may,  of  course,  be  reversed.  The  sentence  from  Urn  Burial 
or  that  from  Ecclesiastes  may  be  read  flippantly  by  giving 
it  the  casual  unevenness  of  time  divisions,  of  intensity 
of  emphasis,  and  of  pitch  that  is  natural  to  newspaper  or 
conversational  prose.  The  newspaper  sentences  may  be 
made  broadly  comic  by  incongruously  giving  them  the  dig- 
nified even  time  parts  into  which  we  divide  emotional  prose. 
This  second  reading  will  have  the  absurd  effect  of  much 
campaign  speech-making,  or  the  oratory  of  college  debating 
teams,  hi  which  a  change  in  the  income  tax  is  urged  in 
cadences  proper  to  the  reading  of  the  Ten  Commandments. 

The  first  necessity,  then,  for  the  writer  of  "rhythmical 
prose"  is  an  elevation  of  thought  which  will  impel  a  reader 
sensitive  to  the  emotion  expressed,  to  make  the  time  between 
the  accented  syllables  perceptibly  equal.  This  emotional 
content  is  not  necessary  to  make  us  read  verse  metrically, 
for,  if  the  poet  has  made  his  intention  plain,  we  unconsciously 
fall  into  a  metrical  pattern  and  sustain  it  through  the  poem, 
even  though  the  subject  be  as  unemotional  as  an  Essay  on 
Criticism. 

Though  dignity  of  feeling  is  the  necessary  basis  for  prose 
that  is  to  be  read  rhythmically,  the  particular  quality  of 
the  prose  is  determined  by  its  rhythmical  pattern.  The  pas- 
sage quoted  from  Ecclesiastes,  beginning  "Remember  now 
thy  Creator,"  varies  between  duple  and  triple  rhythm. 
In  prose,  the  same  pattern  must  not  be  sustained  for  many 
phrases,  or  they  will  have  the  evenness  of  verse  rhythm. 
Notice  the  monotonous  effect  of  the  absolutely  unvaried 
triple  rhythm  of  the  following: 

Ethereal  strength  of  the  Alps,  like  a  dream, 
that  will  vanish  in  solemn  procession  beyond 
the  Torcellan  horizon;  and  islands  of  Pa- 
duan  hills  that  are  poised  in  the  gold  of  the 
west. 

59 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  flow  of  rhythm  of  the  passage  as  Ruskin  wrote  it  is  ex- 
quisitely varied: 

Ethereal  strength  of  Alps,  dreamlike,  van- 
ishing hi  high  procession  beyond  the  Tor- 
cellan  shore;  blue  islands  of  Paduan  hills, 
poised  in  the  golden  west. 

(Modern  Painters,  Part  IX,  chap.  9.) 

The  pattern  of  "rhythmic  prose,"  especially  in  that  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  very  often  consists  in  a  parallelism  of 
rhythm,  with,  or  without,  a  parallelism  of  thought.  In  the 
following  passage,  the  phrases  are  set  apart  to  illustrate  this: 

For  man  also  knoweth  not  his  time: 

as  the  fishes  that  are  taken  in  an  e"vil  ne"t, 

and  as  the  birds  that  are  caught  in  the  snare-, 

s6  are  the  s6ns  of  m6n 

sn&red  in  an  eVil  time, 

when  it  falleth  suddenly  upon  them. 

(Ecclesiastes,  IX,  12.) 

There  is  a  similarity  between  the  rhythm  of  the  second  and 
third  phrases,  and  another  between  that  of  the  fourth  and 
fifth.  The  reader  may  also,  if  he  chooses,  read  the  sixth 
phrase  in  the  duple  rhythm  of  the  first.  Here  is  another 
example  of  parallelism  in  prose;  the  two  phrases  would 
make  two  perfect  lines  of  verse  in  triple  rhythm : 

He"  that  obs4rveth  the  wind  shall  not  s6w; 
and  he"  that  reg&rdeth  the  clouds  shall  not 
reap. 

(Ecclesiastes,  XI,  4.) 

Such  exact  parallelism,  however,  as  this  last  example  has, 
and  such  a  long  continuance  of  one  pattern  is  not  common 
even  in  the  more  rhythmic  parts  of  the  Authorized  Version. 
The  most  subtly  wrought  "rhythmical  prose"  in  our 
literature  is  undoubtedly  that  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  It 
has  in  the  highest  degree  all  the  qualities  of  varied  pattern, 

60 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

sonorous  vowel  sequence,  musical  alliteration,  and  even 
occasionally  rime.  An  analysis  of  one  more  sentence  from 
Urn  Burial  will  show  these  characteristics: 

And  since  death  'must  be  the  Lucina  of 
life,  and  even  Pagans  could  doubt,  whether 
thus  to  live  were  to  die;  since  our  longest 
sun  sets  at  right  descensions,  and  makes 
but  winter  arches,  and  therefore  it  cannot  be 
long  before  we  lie  down  in  darkness,  and 
have  our  light  in  ashes;  since  the  brother 
of  death  daily  haunts  us  with  dying  me- 
mentos, and  time  that  grows  old  in  itself, 
bids  us  hope  no  long  duration; — diuturnity 
is  a  dream  and  folly  of  expectation. 

Beside  the  obvious  rhetorical  balance  and  periodic  structure 
of  the  three  clauses  beginning  with  since  and  leading  to  the 
same  concluding  clause,  there  are  correspondences  between 
the  rhythms  of  several  phrases.  This  echoing  of  rhythms 
through  a  paragraph  justifies  the  expression  "cathedral 
style"  applied  to  the  prose  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne.  A  very 
exact  parallelism  occurs  between  the  two  following  short 
phrases,  which  balance  two  longer  phrases  that  are  not  in 
correspondence  with  each  other: 

and  rndkes  but  winter  firches, 
and  hdve  our  light  hi  fishes. 

Again,  the  two  phrases  that  precede  the  final  one  of  the  sen- 
tence have  a  similarity  in  the  number  of  time  parts  and  in 
their  rhythm.  The  rhythms  here  are  not  so  perfectly  par- 
alleled as  those  just  quoted,  but  they  are  as  much  alike  as 
two  successive  lines  of  verse  often  are: 

since  the  br6ther  of  de&th  daily  haunts  us  with  dying  mementos, 
and  time  that  grows  61d  in  itse"lf,  bids  us  h6pe  no  long  duration. 

Individual  readers  vary  so  much  in  their  distribution  of 

61 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

prose  accents  that  the  writer  can  point  out  only  the  most 
obvious  cases  of  parallelism,  where  there  would  probably 
be  little  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  best  reading.10  Other 
readers  may  discover  further  similarities  in  the  phrase 
rhythms  of  the  passage. 

In  one  respect,  different  readers  of  the  sentence  will 
probably  agree.  This  is  hi  the  rhythmical  close  of  each 
phrase.  There  is  an  echoing  of  similar  cadences  in  the  last 
five  or  six  syllables  that  precede  a  grammatical  pause.  The 
sentence  in  question  is  built  up  on  two  recurring  patterns 
of  phrase  cadences,  ~  /  ~  ~  /  and  ~  /  ~  /  ~.  In  the  following 
list  of  rhythmical  closes,  like  effects  are  marked  in  the  same 

way: 

~  /~  ~  / 

#  Lucina  of  life 

~  *-,      /  ~      ^        I 

#  even  Pagans  could  doubt 
~  /       >_     _    / 

#  to  live  were  to  die 
~    /        ~   /     ^ 

##  at  right  descensions 

~      1^1^ 
##  but  winter  arches 
~      /       ~    /   ^ 
##  lie  down  in  darkness 

~    /      ~    /    ~ 
##  our  light  in  ashes 

^  /      W       ;W      /         %• 

###  with  dying  mementos 

~        I     ^  ^  I 
f  grows  old  in  itself 

~    /        ^  I    -^ 
##  no  long  duration 

~     /  V.       /         ~ 

##  of  expectation11 

10  Dogmatism  in  such  subtle  questions  of  taste  seems  to  me  even 
more  out  of  place  in  a  discussion  of  prose  reading  than  in  a  treatment 
of  verse  reading,  where  there  is  somewhat  less  chance  for  a  difference  in 
taste.  The  extreme  arbitrariness  of  the  scansions  of  Professor  Saints- 
bury  in  his  History  of  Prose  Rhythm  has  been  commented  on  by  every 
reader  of  the  book  with  whom  I  have  talked. 

u  The  rhythm  of  the  last  phrase  would  probably  lead  most  readers 
to  put  a  "light  stress"  on  the  first  syllable  of  expectation,  just  as  if  the 
word  occurred  in  verse. 

62 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

This  recurrence,  with  variation,  of  the  rhythmic  endings  of 
phrases  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  fine  prose.  A  study  of 
these  cadences  may  make  a  basis  for  individualizing  the 
work  of  different  writers.  The  student  who  wishes  to  carry 
this  study  further  may  find  interest  in  comparing  the  rhyth- 
mic endings  in  the  passage  just  analyzed,  with  those,  for 
example,  in  the  ninety-first  Psalm,  or  in  the  third  chapter 
of  Habakkuk.  He  will  find  such  paragraphs  of  prose  built, 
like  those  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  upon  three  or  four  recurring 
cadences.  There  are  four  that  are  strikingly  repeated 
throughout  the  ninety-first  Psalm  in  the  Authorized  Version: 

1.  He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place 

of  the  most  High  shall   abide  under  the 

/   _   ^    ^  ^     I    ~ 
shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

^    *.,     I     ^     ^      I  ^ 

2.  I  will  say  of  the  Lord,   He  is  my 
/   _      _         ^    /     ^      _       /      x    / 

refuge  and  my  fortress:  my  God;  in  him 

^.  ~     / 
will  I  trust. 

3.  Surely  He  shall  deliver  thee  from  the 
snare  of  the  fowler,  and  from  the  noisome 
pestilence. 

4.  He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers, 
and  under  his  wings  shalt  thou  trust;   his 
truth  shall  be  thy  shield  and  buckler. 

5.  Thou  shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror 
by  night;  nor  for  the  arrow  that  flieth  by 
day; 

6.  Nor  for  the  pestilence  that  walketh 
in   darkness;   nor  for  the  destruction  that 
wasteth  at  noonday. 

7.  A  thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  side,  and 
ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand;  but  it  shall 
not  come  nigh  thee. 

8.  Only  with  thine  eyes  shalt  thou  be- 
hold and  see  the  reward  of  the  wicked. 

63 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

9.  Because  thou  hast  made  the  Lord, 
which  is  my  refuge,  even  the  most  High, 
thy  habitation; 

10.  There  shall  no  evil  befall  thee,  neither 
shall  any  plague  come  nigh  thy  dwelling. 

11.  For  he  shall  give  his  angels  charge 
over  thee,  to  keep  thee  in  all  thy  ways. 

12.  They  shall  bear  thee  up  in  their 
hands,  lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a  stone. 

13.  Thou  shalt  tread  upon  the  lion  and 
the  adder:  the  young  lion  and  the  dragon 
shalt  thou  trample  under  feet. 

14.  Because  he  hath  set  his  love  upon 
me,  therefore  will  I  deliver  him:  I  will  set 
him  on  high  because  he  hath  known  my 
name. 

15.  He  shall  call  upon  me  and  I  will 
answer  him:  I  will  be  with  him  in  trouble;  I 
will  deliver  him,  and  honour  him. 

16.  With  long  hie  will  I  satisfy  him,  and 
shew  him  my  salvation. 

The  four  chief  closing  rhythms  throughout  the  Psalm  (in 
the  reading  of  the  present  author)  are  the  following: 

^     /    ~  ~  ~    ~    /    ^ 

(a)  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty 
^     /   ~    ~     ^    /    ^ 

my  refuge  and  my  fortress 
^     I  ^     ^     ^     ^    I     _ 

shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers 

~          /    ^    ^   ^     I         ^ 

ten  thousand  at  thy  right  hand 
/        /        ~    ^  ^  I  ^ 

most  High  thy  habitation. 

^   ^     I    ^    ^     I 

(b)  I  will  say  of  the  Lord 
~     /      ~  ~     / 

in  hma  will  I  trust 

^     /          ~       ^       /     ' 
his  wings  shalt  thou  trust 

~    *.,    I   ^   ^     / 
for  the  terror  by  night 

^     /^    ^     / 
that  flieth  by  day 

64 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

^    I     ~  ~    / 
shall  fall  at  thy  side 

^      ^  I     —>     ^      I 
bear  thee  up  in  their  hands 
^   ^     I     ^    ^      I 
I  will  set  him  on  high 

^,       ^      I      _     x_x   I    _ 

(c)  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler 

^      I    ^     ^    I      -^ 
that  walketh  in  darkness 

^       />_<_/       ^ 
that  wasteth  at  noonday 

^    ^  I      ^  —      /    ^ 
the  reward  of  the  wicked 

•~,   I  ^     ^    I     *.* 
the  lion  and  adder 

^    /      ~    ^   /       ^ 
be  with  him  in  trouble 

~        /      ^       I     ^ 

(d)  thy  shield  and  buckler 

^    /    ^    I    ^ 
which  is  my  refuge 

^      /         ~      /    — 
come  nigh  thy  dwelling 
~      I     ^  I      ^  I      ~ 
hath  set  his  love  upon  thee 
^       /      ^      /     ^  /  ^ 
and  shew  him  my  salvation 

The  points  brought  out  in  the  analysis  of  all  these  examples 
of  prose  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  rhythmical  prose  is  prose 
that  is  read,  like  verse,  with  a  very  perceptible  division 
into  approximately  equal  time  parts,  but  these  time  parts 
are  not  grouped  in  regularly  recurring  metrical  units  (lines) 
like  those  of  verse.  This  kind  of  prose  has  also  an  approach 
to  rhythmical  pattern,  but  in  the  best  examples,  one  pattern 
is  not,  as  in  verse,  consistently  carried  through  a  whole 
passage;  rather,  two  or  three  patterns  are  irregularly  re- 
peated or  alternated. 

This  definition  of  rhythmical  prose  will  include  most 
of  the  poetry  of  Walt  Whitman  and  his  followers — what  is 
called  free  verse,  or  vers  libre.12  If  we  print  as  free  verse  one 

12  Walt  Whitman  himself  is  credited  with  saying  that  the  Leaves  oj 
Grass  contains  both  prose  and  verse. 

65 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

of  the  prose  passages  we  have  been  discussing  we  see  that 
the  two  forms  may  be  in  reality  the  same  thing,  e.  g. 

Remember  now  thy  creator 

In  the  days  of  thy  youth, 

When  the  evil  days  come  not, 

Nor  the  years  draw  nigh 

When  thou  shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleasure  in  them. 

Or  we  may  treat  in  the  same  way  a  passage  from  Joseph 
Conrad's  story,  Youth: 

And  this  is  how  I  see  the  East. 

I  have  seen  its  secret  places  and  have  looked  into  its  very  soul; 

But  now  I  see  it  always  from  a  small  boat, 

A  high  outline  of  mountains, 

Blue  and  afar  in  the  mornings;  like  a  faint  mist  at  noon; 

A  jagged  wall  of  purple  at  sunset. 

I  have  the  feel  of  the  oar  hi  my  hand, 

The  vision  of  a  scorching  blue  sea  in  my  eyes. 

And  I  see  a  bay,  a  wide  bay, 

Smooth  as  glass  and  polished  like  ice, 

Shimmering  in  the  dark. 

Compare  the  general  effect  of  this  with  Whitman's 

By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame, 

A  procession  winding  around  me,  solemn  and  sweet  and  slow; — 

but  first  I  note, 

The  tents  of  the  sleeping  army,  the  fields'  and  woods'  dim  outline, 
The  darkness,  lit  by  spots  of  kindled  fire — the  silence; 
Like  a  phantom  far  or  near  an  occasional  figure  moving; 
The  shrubs  and  trees,  (as  I  lift  my  eyes  they  seem  to  be  stealthily 

watching  me) 

Which  wind  in  procession  thoughts,   0  tender  and  wondrous 

thoughts, 
Of  life  and  death — of  home  and  the  past  and  loved,  and  of  thou  that 

art  far  away; 

A  solemn  and  slow  procession  there  as  I  sit  on  the  ground, 
By  the  bivouac's  fitful  flame. 

66 


PROSE  AND  VERSE 

The  biblical  verse  and  the  Conrad  paragraph  appear  as  poems 
or  parts  of  poems  in  the  manner  of  the  vers  libre  school. 
The  only  difference  which  printing  it  in  this  form  can  make 
is  that  most  readers  would  pause  slightly  at  the  end  of  each 
line,  thus  making  the  rhythmic  units  more  distinct  than  the 
phrases  were  when  printed  as  prose.  This,  in  fact,  is  what 
the  writers  of  free  verse  gain  merely  by  beginning  each  line 
with  a  capital.  The  feeling  that  he  is  reading  verse  impels 
the  reader  to  give  more  attention  to  rhythm  than  he  does 
in  reading  prose.  This  is  merely  another  indication  that  verse 
rhythm  is  to  a  very  considerable  extent  subjective. 

But  some  so-called  free  verse  is  not  as  much  like  rhythmi- 
cal prose  as  it  is  like  blank  verse.  It  has  a  very  even  rhyth- 
mic pattern,  though  the  line  length  is  irregular.  Here  is  a 
passage  in  duple  rhythm: 

Once  on  a  time 

There  was  a  little  boy:  a  master  mage 

By  virtue  of  a  Book 

Of  magic — 0,  so  magical  it  filled 

His  life  with  visionary  pomps 

Processional!    And  Powers 

Passed  with  him  where  he  passed.    And  Thrones 

And  Dominations,  glaived  and  plumed  and  mailed, 

Thronged  in  the  criss-cross  streets, 

The  palaces  pell-mell  with  playing-fields, 

Domes,  cloisters,  dungeons,  caverns,  tents,  arcades, 

Of  the  unseen,  silent  City,  in  his  soul 

Pavilioned  jealously,  and  hid 

As  in  the  dusk,  profound, 

Green  stillnesses  of  some  enchanted  mere. 

(W.  E.  Henley:    Arabian  Nights.) 

Matthew  Arnold,  who  experimented  much  with  free  verse, 
has  a  poem,  the  Future,  in  a  perfectly  regular  triple  rhythm, 
but  in  irregular  unrimed  meter. 

A  wanderer  is  man  from  his  birth. 
He  was  born  in  a  ship 
67 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

On  the  breast  of  the  River  of  Time. 
Brimming  with  wonder  and  joy 
He  spreads  out  his  arms  to  the  light, 
Rivets  his  gaze  on  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

The  freedom  of  vers  libre,  then,  may  be  a  freedom  from 
rime  and  from  metrical  pattern,  and  it  may  also  be  a  freedom 
from  regular  rhythmical  pattern.  In  the  second  case  it  is, 
except  for  the  manner  of  printing,  identical  with  rhythmical 
prose. 

The  effect  of  any  of  the  forms  defined  in  this  chapter — 
verse,  free  verse,  rhythmical  prose,  and  ordinary  prose — 
is  dependent  to  a  great  extent  upon  the  way  it  is  read.  A 
poor  reader  is  likely  to  ignore  the  intention  of  an  author 
and  miss  a  carefully  wrought  artistic  effect.  The  finest 
Shakespearian  verse  when  spoken  on  the  stage  today  usually 
becomes  merely  fine  rhythmical  prose,  because  most  actors 
seem  unable  to  give  it  properly  expressive  interpretation 
without  obscuring  the  pattern;  and  the  rhythmical  prose 
of  Ruskin,  Pater,  or  the  Authorized  Version  may  be  read 
to  sound  like  the  morning  paper.18 

"  A  more  detailed  study  of  free  verse  will  be  found  in  Chapter  XIX. 


68 


CHAPTER  VI 

MOVEMENT — PHRASING 

Compare  the  effect  of  the  two  following  lines, 
The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 

and 

Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern. 

Both  are  tetrameter,  in  duple  rhythm,  and  both  have  eight 
syllables;  but  in  the  former,  each  unstressed  syllable  seems 
to  be  associated  more  closely  with  the  stress  that  follows 
it  than  with  that  which  precedes.  In  the  latter,  the  reverse 
is  true.  The  difference  is  due  to  what  we  may  call  the 
movement  of  the  rhythm.  There  are  two  kinds  of  move- 
ment, rising  and  falling.  Rising  movement  is  illustrated  by 

The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill. 

This  kind  of  rhythm  we  may  compare  with  that  of  a  hammer 
driving  a  nail ;  a  preparatory  lifting  comes  before  the  stroke. 
Falling  movement  is  illustrated  by 

Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern. 

This  kind  of  rhythm  we  may  compare  with  that  of  a  type- 
writer key,  which  rebounds  after  being  pressed. 

Below  are  quoted  six  passages  of  verse  that  have  each  a 
separate  and  distinctive  rhythmic  effect  when  read.  This  is 
due  to  the  combination  of  a  rising  or  falling  movement 
with  one  of  three  types  of  rhythmical  pattern  distinguished 
in  the  fourth  chapter.1  For  convenience  we  may  as  well  call 

1  Quadruple  rhythm  has  not  been  used  enough  as  yet  in  serious  verse 
to  have  its  possibilities  well  developed.  It  appears  at  present  to  be  used 
only  with  a  rising  movement. 

69 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

these  effects  by  the  names  usually  applied    in    classical 
prosody. 

1.  Iambic  lines  (Duple  rhythm  with  rising  movement) : 

At  |  midnight  |  in  the  |  month  of  |  June,  * 
I  |  stand  be-  |  neath  the  |  mystic  |  moon. 
An  |  opiate  |  vapor,  |  dewy,  |  dun, 
Ex-  |  hales  from  |  out  her  |  golden  |  rim. 

(Poe:    Sleeper.) 

2.  Trochaic  lines  (duple  rhythm  with  falling  movement) : 

|  Honor,  |  riches,  |  marriage-  |  blessing, 
|  Long  con-  |  tinuance,  |  and  hi-  |  creasing 
|  Hourly  |  joys  be  |  still  u-  |  pon  you! 
|  Juno  |  sings  her  |  blessings  |  on  you. 

(The  Tempest,  IV,  1.) 

3.  Anapestic  lines  (triple  rhythm  with  rising  movement) : 

The  As-  I  Syrian  came  |  down  like  a  |  wolf  on  the  |-fold, 
And  his  |  cohorts  were  |  gleaming  in  |  purple  and  |  gold; 
And  the  |  sheen  of  their  |  spears  was  like  |  stars  on  the  |  sea, 
Where  the  |  blue  wave  rolls  |  nightly  on  |  deep  Gali  |  lee. 

(Byron:    Hebrew  Melodies.) 

4.  Dactylic  lines  (triple  rhythm  with  falling  movement) : 

|  Warriors  and  |  chiefs!    Should  the  |  shaft  or  the  |  sword 
|  Pierce  me  in  |  leading  the  |  host  of  the  |  Lord, 
I  Heed  not  the  |  corse,  though  a  |  King's,  in  your  |  path: 
I  Bury  your  |  steel  in  the  |  bosoms  of  |  Gath ! 

(Byron:  Song  of  Saul  before  his  Last  Battle.) 

5.  lambic-anapestic  lines  (duple-triple  rhythm  with  rising 
movement) : 

The  |  sea  is  at  |  ebb  and  the  |  sound  of  her  |  utmost  |  word, 

1  It  is  to  be  noted  that  movement  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  division 
into  time  parts;  for  instance,  of  in  the  first  line  quoted,  is  more  closely 
associated  with  June  in  the  following  foot  than  with  month,  which  is 
part  of  the  same  foot. 

70 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

Is  |  soft  as  a  |  least  wave's  |  lapse  on  a  |  still  small  I  reach. 
From  1  bay  unto  |  bay  on  |  quest  of  a  |  goal  de-  |  ferred, 
From  |  headland  |  ever  to  |  headland  and  |  beach  to  |  beach, 
When  |  earth  gives  |  ear  to  the  |  message  that  I  all  days  |  preach. 

(Swinburne:    Seaboard.) 

6.  Trochaic-dactylic  lines*  (duple-triple  rhythm  with  fall- 
ing movement) : 

|  Surely  the  |  thought  in  a  |  man's  heart  |  hopes  or  |  fears 
|  Now  that  for-  |  getfulness  |  needs  must  |  here  have  |  stricken 
|  Anguish  and  |  sweetened  the  |  sealed-up  |  springs  of  |  tears.  .  . 
(Swinburne:    Century  of  Roundels.) 

Differences  in  movement  in  the  same  rhythm  depend 
wholly  upon  whether  a  line  begins  with  direct  attack4  or  not. 
This  will  be  clear  to  the  reader  if  he  reads  examples  1,  2, 
and  3,  covering  the  syllables  before  the  first  bars. 

|  Midnight  |  in  the  |  month  of  |  June, 

|  Cohorts  were  |  gleaming  in  |  purple  and  |  gold, 

I  Soft  as  a  |  least  wave's  |  lapse  on  a  |  still  small  |  reach, 

would  all  fit  perfectly  into  the  movement  of  examples  4,  5, 
and  6.  On  the  other  hand,  prefixing  a  syllable  to  any  line 
in  examples  4,  5,  and  6,  as, 

All  |  honor  |  riches,  |  marriage-  |  blessing, 
With  |  long  con-  |  tinuance,  |  and  in-  |  creasing, 

or, 

With  a  |  hail  to  the  |  chief  who  in  |  triumph  ad-  |  vances, 
or, 
O,  |  surely  the  |  thought  in  a  |  man's  heart  |  hopes  or  |  fears, 

changes  it  to  rising  movement  like  the  examples  1,  2,  and  3. 
Evidently,  then,  the  way  that  movement  is  indicated  by 

3  In  classical  prosody  called  logaoedic. 

4  See  above,  p.  21. 

71 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

the  method  of  scansion  used  in  this  book  is  by  showing 
whether  a  line  begins  with  direct  attack  or  not,  i.  e.,  whether 
or  not  the  first  bar  is  preceded  by  a  syllable.  The  fact  that 
movement  is  determined  entirely  by  the  beginning  of  a  line 
is  illustrated  by  an  amusing  incident  in  the  life  of  Handel, 
as  told  by  his  librettist  Morell: 

And  as  to  the  last  air  I  cannot  help  telling  you 
that  when  Mr.  Handel  first'read  it  he  cried  out, 
"Damn  your  iambics!"  "Don'tjput  yourself  in 
a  passion,  they  are  easily  trochees."  "Trochees, 
what  are  trochees?"  "Why,  the  very  reverse  of 
iambics,  by  leaving  out  a  syllable  in  every  line, 
as  instead  of  'Convey  me  to  some  peaceful 
shore/  'Lead  me  to  some  peaceful  shore.'" 
"That  is  what  I  want."  "I  will  step  into  the 
parlour,  and  alter  them  immediately."1 

A  rising  movement  may  be  set  up  by  beginning  the  line 
with  either  one  or  two  syllables.  For  instance,  there  is  no 
difference  in  movement  whether  the  poet  writes, 

At  midnight  in  the  month  of  June, 
or, 

And  at  midnight  in  the  month  of  June. 
Similarly, 

And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold, 
may  be  abbreviated  to 

His  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold. 

without  change  in  movement. 

Evidently  then,  since  a  movement  is  established  purely 
by  whether  a  line  begins  with  direct  attack  or  not,  the 
sense  of  movement  becomes  subjective  after  it  is  once  estab- 

•  Quoted  in  Streatfeild's  Handel  (N.  Y.,  1909). 

72 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

lished.  For  instance,  you  may  repeat  the  syllables  ta-ta-ta- 
ta-,  etc.,  starting  with  a  trochaic  movement,  thus:  |  ta-ta  | 
ta-ta  j  ta-ta  |  ta-ta  |  ta-ta  |  ta-ta  |  ta-ta  and  find  presently, 
after  five  or  six  feet,  that  you  have  unconsciously  fallen  into 
an  iambic  movement,  thus: 

ta  -  1  ta  ta  -  |  ta  ta  -  |  ta  ta  .     .     .     etc. 

Or,  you  may  consciously  change  from  one  to  the  other  at 
will.  Two  people  may  hear  the  same  watch  ticking,  one 
iambically,  the  other  trochaically.  This  unstable  character 
of  movement,  joined  with  the  fact  that  we  seem  to  have  an 
instinctive  preference  for  rising  over  falling  movement,  is 
a  point  that  the  poet  must  bear  constantly  in  mind,  when 
writing  in  a  falling  movement.  The  methods  of  sustaining 
trochaic  and  dactylic  effects  will  be  taken  up  in  chapters  XVI 
and  XVII. 

Before  going  further  with  the  subject  of  movement,  an 
understanding  of  what  is  meant  by  phrasing  will  be  necessary. 

Phrasing  is  the  grouping  of  words  closely  related  by  their 
sense  or  their  grammatical  association.  In  the  following 
passage,  the  four  phrases  of  which  it  is  composed  are  di- 
vided by  commas: 

My  good  blade  carves  the  casques  of  men,  || 

My  tough  lance  thrusteth  sure,  || 
My  strength  is  as  the  strength  of  ten,  || 

Because  my  heart  is  pure. 

(Tennyson:    Sir  Galahad.) 

Here  the  phrasing  exactly  coincides  with  the  meter  so  that 
the  lines  stand  out  as  separate  units.  In  the  next  passage 
the  phrasing  also  coincides  with  the  line  structure,  but  each 
line  is  composed  of  two  or  more  phrases  divided  by  cesural 
pauses: 

111  fares  the  land,  ||  to  hastening  ills  a  prey,  || 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  ||  and  men  decay:  || 
73 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Princes  and  lords  ||  may  flourish,  ||  or  may  fade —  || 
A  breath  can  make  them,  1 1  as  a  breath  has  made. 

(Goldsmith:    Deserted  Village.) 

Phrasing  is  very  often  in  conflict  with  meter  so  that  the  line 
structure,  through  some  passages,  is  slightly  obscured  to  the 
listener.  This  is  particularly  true  of  blank  verse  of  the 
Miltonic  type,  e.  g. 

||  Yet  from  these  flames 
No  light;  ||  but  rather  ||  darkness  visible 
Served  only  to  discover  sights  of  woe,  || 
Regions  of  sorrow,  ||  doleful  shades,  ||  where  peace 
And  rest  can  never  dwell,  1 1  hope  never  comes  |  [ 
That  comes  to  all,  ||  but  torture  without  end 
Still  urges,  ||  and  a  fiery  deluge,  ||  fed 
With  ever-burning  sulphur  unconsumed.  || 

(Milton:    Paradise  Lost,  I,  62  ff.) 

Making  the  phrases  run  over  the  line,  as  they  do  in  all  but 
two  lines  of  this  passage,  is  called  enjambment.  Notice 
especially  the  line  division  of  such  phrases  as  "where  peace 
and  rest  can  never  dwell"  or,  "fed  with  ever  burning  sulphur 
unconsumed." 

Changes  in  phrasing  are  one  of  the  means  of  adding 
variety  to  versification,  when  such  variety  is  considered  de- 
sirable. Whether  phrasing  should  coincide  with  meter  or 
should  be  in  conflict  with  it  depends  upon  the  form  of  verse 
under  consideration,  and  often  upon  the  taste  of  the  poet 
or  of  the  age.  In  the  sonnet,  for  example,  these  two  forces 
are  usually  coincident,  but  in  good  blank  verse  they  are 
always  at  variance  to  some  extent.  It  is  purely  the  degree 
to  which  this  enjambment  is  carried  that  constitutes  the 
difference  among  the  various  types  of  pentameter  couplet 
written  in  the  seventeenth,  eighteenth,  and  nineteenth 
centuries.  This  matter  will  be  taken  up  later  in  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  separate  verse  forms. 

Quite  as  important  as  the  relation  of  phrasing  to  meter  is 

74 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

its  support  of,  or  conflict  with,  movement.  This  phase,  which 
is  considerably  more  subtle  than  the  one  just  treated,  is 
significant  in  connection  with  all  forms  of  verse.  The  rela- 
tion of  phrasing  to  movement  depends  upon  the  fact  that 
prose  phrases  have  a  movement  of  their  own  in  ordinary 
speech.  We  saw  in  the  previous  chapter,  that  there  may  be 
an  approach  to  an  equality  of  time  divisions  in  prose  speech, 
but  no  regular  rhythmical  pattern  for  more  than  very  short 
stretches.  In  brief  expressions,  however,  and  in  the  short 
phrases  of  which  longer  prose  passages  are  composed,  there 
is  rhythmical  pattern  and  movement.  For  instance,  the 
expression,  The  road  to  New  York  is  not  very  good,  iambic- 
anapestic  in  character,  and  Meet  me  at  half-past  seven  to- 
morrow, is  trochaic-dactylic. 

To  illustrate  this  further,  we  may  name  the  movements 
in  phrases  after  the  corresponding  rhythmical  movements, 
and  supplement  these  with  other  terms  taken  from  classical 
prosody: 

/        /         /        / 
Great,  just,  good    God — spondaic,  or  monosyllabic  phrasing 

~     /  ~      / 
can  never  dwell — iambic  phrasing 

/  ^  r/    ^ 

ever-burning — trochaic  phrasing 
^    ^       I  ^  ^       I 
by  the  shadowy  stream — anapestic  phrasing 

glorious  cataract — dactylic  phrasing 

~      /     ^ 

Besides  these,  we  may  recognize  the  amphibrach  (a  handful), 
but  this  type  of  phrase  rarely  keeps  its  individuality.  Two 

^  /  V       W          /     S« 

or  three  amphibrachs  in  succession,  like  "a  handful  of  faded 

^  •  /  -^ 
carnations"  may  have  an  anapestic  or  dactylic  effect,  accord- 

v_x  /  ^^ 

ing  to  what  precedes.    Of  course,  phrases  like  "with  jollity" 

or  "in  the  library"  often  occur,  but  unless  they  are  repeated, 

•^  ^     /  ^  ^    ^    ,_,       /  ^ 

as  in  "in  the  evening  by  the  twilight"  they  may  be  resolved 
into  one  of  the  effects  classified  above. 

75 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  agreement  or  conflict  of  the  rhythmical  movement 
and  the  phrasing  may  bring  about  either  monotony  or  variety 
in  verse,  and  produce  many  interesting  and  often  startling 
effects. 

Here  are  a  number  of  examples  of  different  relations  of 
phrasing  and  rhythmical  movement  in  short  passages: 

Iambic  movement  supported  by  iambic  phrasing: 

And  pass  his  days  in  peace  among  his  own. 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

The  weight  of  all  the  hopes  of  half  the  world. 

(Tennyson:    Princess.) 

Alack  the  day,  she's  dead,  she's  dead,  she's  dead. 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  IV,  5.) 

And  streams  and  clouds  and  suns  and  birds  and  trees. 

(Lanier:    Symphony.) 

The  same  effect,  but  less  marked,  by  using  fewer  monosyl- 
lables: 

For  brief  repast  or  afternoon  repose, 

(Tennyson:    Guinevere.) 

Such  coincidence  of  iambic  movement  and  phrasing  for 
several  lines  in  succession  gives  an  effective  emphasis: 

And  rolling  far  along  the  gloomy  shores 
The  voice  of  days  of  old  and  days  to  be. 

(Tennyson:    Passing  of  Arthur.) 

If  this  is  carried  on  for  a  number  of  lines  without  any  particu- 
lar reason  for  it  in  the  sense  of  the  passage,  the  effect  is  heavy 
and  very  monotonous. 

Direct  conflict  of  iambic  movement  with  trochaic  phrasing 
may  be  illustrated  by: 

The  desert,  forest,  cavern,  breakers'  foam. 

(Byron:    Childe  Harold,  III.) 
76 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

On  wyvern,  lion,  dragon,  griffon,  swan. 

(Tennyson:    Holy  Grail.) 

And  if  I  give  thee  honor  due,  .  .  . 
And  at  my  window  bid  good-morrow. 

(Milton:    L'Allegro.) 

The  effect  of  this  conflict  is  very  strikingly  made  use  of 
in  the  last  phrase  of  the  passage  from  Paradise  Lost  quoted 
a  few  pages  back: 

but  torture  without  end 
Still  urges,  and  a  fiery  deluge,  fed 
With  ever  burning  sulphur  unconsumed. 

Iambic  movement  in  conflict  with  spondaic  phrasing 
may  give  a  certain  emphasis  and  a  dignified  slowness  to  a 
line:6 

Before  high  piled  books  in  charactery 
Hold  like  rich  garners  the  full  ripened  grain; 
When  I  behold  upon  the  night's  starred  face, 
Huge  cloudy  symbols  of  a  high  romance  .  .  . 

(Keats:    When  I  have  fears.) 

This  slowing  up  of  the  line  may  also  give  a  sense  of  ob- 
struction and  difficulty,  as  in, 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw 
The  line  too,  labors  and  the  words  move  slow 

(Pope:    Essay  on  Criticism,  II.) 

O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp, 
Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death. 
~   (Milton:  ~Paradise  Lost,  II,  620.) 

Iambic  movement  in  conflict  with  anapestic  phrasing: 

Made  lightenings  in  the  splendor  of  the  moon 

(Tennyson:  Passing  of  Arthur.) 

6  This,  of  course,  is  the  same  as  "extra  stress."  See  the  other  exam- 
ples above,  p.  15. 

77 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
Iambic  movement  in  conflict  with  dactylic  phrasing: 

Hurled  as  a  stone  from  out  of  a  catapult 

(Tennyson:  Passing  of  Arthur.) 

'Phosphorous/  then  'Meridies* — 'Hesperus* 

(Tennyson:  Gareth  and  Lynette.) 

Trochaic  movement  supported  by  trochaic  phrasing: 

Honor,  riches,  marriage, — blessing 

(The  Tempest.) 

Wave-kissed  marble  roundly  dimpling 
Gently  rising,  gently  sinking. 

(George  Eliot:  Spanish  Gipsy.) 

The  support  of  this  movement  by  phrasing  makes  more 
marked  the  rapid  and  somewhat  abrupt  effect  that  is  charac- 
teristic of  trochaic  lines.7 

Trochaic  movement  in  conflict  with  iambic  phrasing: 

If  with  voice  of  words  or  prayers  thy  sons  may  reach  thee 
We  thy  latter  sons,  the  men  of  after-birth. 

(Swinburne:    Litany  of  Nations.) 

Anapestic  movement  supported  by  anapestic  phrasing: 

We  have  in  our  hands  the  shining 
And  the  fire  in  our  hearts  of  a  star. 

(Swinburne:    Halt  before  Rome.) 

An  immeasurable  infinite  flower  of  the  dark  that  dilates  and  expands. 
(Swinburne:    Garden  of  Cymodoce.) 

We  have  proved  we  have  hearts  in  a  cause,  we  are  noole  still. 

(Tennyson:    Maud.) 

In  the  following,  the  phrasing  and  movement  are  both 
iambic-anapestic : 

'See  Chapter XVI. 

78 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

We  have  made  no  vows — there  will  none  be  broke, 
Our  love  was  free  as  the  wind  on  the  hill, 

There  was  no  word  said  we  need  wish  unspoke, 
We  have  wrought  no  ill. 

(Ernest  Dowson:    April  Love.) 

Anapestic  movement  with  amphibrach  phrasing: 

I  galloped,  Dirk  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three. 

(Browning:    How  we  brought  the  Good  News.) 

Lines  with  dactylic  movement  supported  by  dactylic 
phrasing  are  rare.  The  following  illustrations  approach  this: 

Wood-flower,  sea-flower,  star-flower  rare,  .  .  . 

Who  are  they,  what  are  they,  whence  have  they  come  to  us?  .  .  . 

Nobody  ever  yet  proved  your  utility. 

(Carmen  and  Hovey:     More  Songs  from  Vagabondia.) 

Dactylic  movement  with  anapestic  phrasing: 

Spread  in  the  sight  of  the  lion 

Surely,  we  said,  is  the  net 
Spread  but  in  vain,  and  the  snare 

Vain;  for  the  light  is  awake.  .  .  . 

(Swinburne:  Halt  Before  Rome.) 

Dactylic  movement  with  amphibrach  phrasing: 

Theirs  be  the  music,  the  color,  the  glory,  the  gold; 
Mine  be  a  handful  of  ashes ;  a  mouthful  of  mould 
Of  the  maimed,  of  the  halt  and  the  blind  in  the  rain  and  the  cold.8 
(John  Masefield:    A  Consecration.) 

The  conflict  of  phrasing  with  movement  may  be  purely 
a  rhythmic  effect  to  prevent  monotony,  or  it  may  be  an 
additional  ornament  of  imitative  or  Suggestive  sound  and 
motion.  The  above  examples  read  with  their  contexts  will 
illustrate  both  uses. 

8  This  third  line  is  anapestic  both  in  movement  and  phrasing — an 
interesting  variation  from  the  preceding  lines. 

79 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  following  quotation  from  Milton  shows  how  the  prin- 
ciple of  agreement  and  conflict  is  carried  out  in  longer 
passages: 

That  proud  honor  claimed 
Azazel  as  his  right,  a  cherub  tall: 
Who  forthwith  from  the  glittering  staff  unfurled 
The  imperial  ensign ;  which,  full  high  advanced, 
Shone  like  a  meteor  streaming  to  the  wind, 
With  gems  and  golden  luster  rich  emblazed, 
Seraphic  arms  and  trophies;  all  the  while 
Sonorous  metal  blowing  martial  sounds: 
At  which  the  universal  host  up-sent 
A  shout  that  tore  Hell's  conclave,  and  beyond 
Frightened  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 

In  the  phrasing  of  this  passage,  printed  below,  when  two 
successive  phrases  continue  the  same  movement  of  their 
own  they  are  printed  together.  The  reader  in  studying  this 
phrasing  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  rhythm  of  the  whole 
passage,  which  is  blank  verse,  is  normally  iambic  (^  /  ^  /  ^  /). 

1  That  proud  honor  claimed  Azazel, 

2  as  his  right, 

3,4  a  cherub  tall:  Who  forthwith 

5,  6  from  the  glittering  staff  unfurled  The  imperial  ensign; 

7  which,  full  high  advanced, 

8  Shone  like  a  meteor  streaming  to  the  wind 

9,  10  With  gems  and  golden  luster  ||  rich  emblazed, 

11  Seraphic  arms  and  trophies; 

12  all  the  while 

13  Sonorous  metal 

14  blowing  martial  sounds: 

15,  16  At  which  ||  the  universal  host  up-sent  A  shout 

17  that  tore  Hell's  conclave, 

18  and  beyond 

19  Frightened  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 

The  passage  here,  taken  from  its  context,  which  has  an 
already  established  iambic  rhythm,  begins  with  a  trochaic 

80 


MOVEMENT— PHRASING 

phrase.  This  is  checked  by  the  simple  anapest,  as  his  right, 
and,  the  next  two  phrases,  the  3rd  and  4th,  being  iambic, 
restore  the  agreement  of  movement  and  phrasing.  The  5th 
and  6th  phrases  are  anapestic,  suggestive  of  the  subject. 
The  7th,  full  high  advanced,  again  restores  the  iambic.  The 
8th  phrase  is  dactylic,  but  easily  runs  into  anapestic  at  the 
end  of  the  line.  The  next  two  lines  and  a  half  (phrases  9-13) 
except  for  the  12th  phrase,  bring  us  back  into  agreement  with 
the  basic  iambic  character  of  the  poem,  which  has  been 
greatly  endangered  by  the  direct  conflict  of  the  phrasing 
of  the  preceding  lines.  The  ending  of  the  13th  phrase  leads 
into  the  strong  trochaic  effect  of  the  14th,  blowing  martial 
sounds.  The  15th  and  16th  restore  the  iambic  for  a  moment. 
The  spondaic  character  of  the  17th  gives  a  stirring  emphasis, 
which  leads  to  a  complete  smashing  of  the  established  rhythm 
and  movement,  again  suggestive  of  the  subject,  in  the  re- 
markable line  that  closes  the  verse  paragraph, 

Frightened  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 

One  of  the  pleasures  the  reader  has  in  great  verse  like  this  is 
the  alternating  struggle  and  agreement  of  the  ever  varying 
phrasing  of  the  poet,  with  the  movement  which,  when  once 
established,  is  constantly  present  subjectively  to  the  reader. 
The  whole  matter  of  phrasing  is  inexact;  it  cannot  be 
classified  and  discussed  with  the  precision  that  meter  can, 
for  different  readers  will  feel  a  different  movement  in  the  same 
prose  phrase.  The  general  principle  of  its  support  of,  or 
conflict  with  both  meter  and  movement,  is,  however,  of  the 
utmost  importance;  for  it  is  by  means  of  phrasing  that  the 
poets  have  produced  some  of  the  finest  effects  in  our  verse. 
It  is  through  phrasing  that  the  individuality  of  verse  stands 
out,  and  makes  it  possible  for  the  student  to  distinguish 
easily  the  work  of  Shakespeare  from  that  of  Milton,  or 
Browning,  or  Tennyson,  even  when  the  poems  compared 
are  in  the  same  meter  and  rhythmical  pattern.  There  will 
be  occasion  to  say  more  on  this  subject  later. 

81 


CHAPTER  VII 
RIME 

The  greater  part  of  English  verse  since  Chaucer  is  rimed.1 
The  only  important  exception  is  blank  verse  (unrimed 
iambic  pentameter).  Besides  this,  there  are  a  few  scattered 
examples  such  as  the  hexameters  of  Clough  and  Longfellow, 
Browning's  One  Word  More,  Longfellow's  Hiawatha,  Swin- 
burne's Sapphics,  etc.  Tennyson's  Tears,  Idle  Tears  is  an 
exceptionally  beautiful  use  of  lyric  blank  verse: 

Tears,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean, 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn-fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days,  that  are  no  more. 

Fresh  as  the  first  beam  glittering  on  a  sail, 
That  brings  our  friends  up  from  the  underworld, 
Sad  as  the  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  sinks  with  all  we  love  below  the  verge, 
So  sad,  so  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Other  interesting  unrimed  lyrics  are  Collins's  Ode  to  Even- 
ing, Lamb's  Old  Familiar  Faces,  and  Longfellow's  Bells  of 
Lynn. 

Rime,  as  used  by  the  majority  of  English  versifiers,  may 
be  defined  as  the  identity,  or  close  similarity,  of  sounds  at 
the  ends  of  two  or  more  lines  of  verse.  The  stressed  vowels 
and  all  consonants  that  follow  should  be  alike,  or  very 

1  The  origin  of  rime  in  the  poetry  of  modern  Europe  has  been  vari- 
ously attributed  to  Arabian,  Celtic,  and  Medieval  Latin  verse  by  dif- 
ferent investigators.  Others  hold  that  it  may  be  indigenous  to  several 
literatures.  These  theories  are  summarized  in  C.  F.  Richardson's  A 
Study  of  English  Rhyme.  Hanover:  1909,  pp.  34-66. 

82 


RIME 

nearly  alike;  and  the  preceding  consonants  should  be  dif- 
ferent. For  instance,  feel:  heal;  feeling:  healing;  feelingly: 
healingly  are  rimes.  Meant  and  lament,  however,  are  not 
sanctioned  by  the  best  usage.  Such  rimes  are  called  identical 
rimes.  Prate,  crate  and  great  are  not  considered  identical 
rimes,  for  double  consonants  (pr,  cr,  gr,  si,  pi,  bl,  etc.), 
as  far  as  rime  is  concerned,  count  as  single.  As  rime  is  a 
matter  that  concerns  the  ear  and  not  the  eye,  eight,  skate, 
and  bait  satisfy  us,  but  through  and  plough  do  not. 
Rimes  to  lines  ending  with  stress  are  called  masculine,  e.  g. 

Come  and  trip  it  as  you  go, 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe. 

Rimes  to  lines  with  light  endings  are  called  feminine,  or 
doubk  rimes,'2  e.  g. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures, 
Whilst  the  landskip  round  it  measures. 

Rimes  to  lines  with  a  double  feminine  ending  are  called 
triple,  or  trisyllabic  rimes,  e.  g. 

One  more  unfortunate, 

Weary  of  breath, 
Rashly  importunate, 

Gone  to  her  death! 

(Hood:    Bridge  of  Sighs.) 

Since  the  beginning  of  rimed  verse  in  English  the  theory 
has  been  that  rime  should  exactly  fit  the  definition  stated 
above;  the  practice  of  poets,  however,  has  at  times  varied 
far  from  this.  Because  certain  important  common  words, 
home,  heaven,  river,  etc.,  have  few  satisfactory  rimes, 
it  has  become  customary  to  accept  come,  even,  and  ever  as 
mates  for  them.  Tennyson,  for  instance,  has  paired  more: 
poor;  curse:  horse;  wood:  flood;  own:  crown;  tune:  moon; 

1  Also  called  penultimate  rimes. 

83 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

one:  alone:  gone;  waist:  rest;  stars:  wars.  Changes  like 
these  on  the  riming  vowel  have  been  used  occasionally  by 
all  the  great  English  poets.  Professor  Richardson,  in  his 
Study  of  English  Rhyme,  has  made  very  interesting  lists  of 
these  variations  in  representative  poets  from  the  beginning 
of  the  use  of  rime  to  the  present  day.  These  lists  give  one 
the  impression  that  the  poets  have  treated  rime  in  a  very 
casual  and  negligent  way,  but  one  must  remember  that 
Professor  Richardson's  book  is  chiefly  a  study  of  the  excep- 
tions to  exact  usage,  and  that  most  great  poets  have  been 
consistently  careful  hi  their  runes. 

There  are  one  or  two  imperfect  rimes  which  have  become 
conventions  in  verse.  For  example,  it  is  not  uncommon 
to  find  by  rimed  with  silent^,  heavenly,  etc.,  and  come 
rimed  with  home.  These  were  formerly  correct  rimes  which 
the  poets  have  been  slow  to  relinquish  even  though  changes 
in  pronunciation  have  made  them  imperfect.  In  the  case 
of  wind  riming  with  find,  mind,  etc.,  we  actually  preserve 
in  verse  reading  an  older  pronunciation  which  long  ago  be- 
came obsolete  in  prose.  Pope's  riming  join  with  wine,  and 
tea  with  obey  was  in  accordance  with  the  pronunciation  of 
his  period. 

Aside  from  a  few  such  cases,  what  variation  in  rime  may 
be  permitted  is  purely  a  matter  of  individual  taste,  not  some- 
thing about  which  one  can  dogmatize.  The  usage  of  the  best 
poets  very  rarely  allows  a  change  in  the  consonants,  though 
the  words  may  be  lengthened,  shortened,  or  even  altered. 
Mrs.  Browning,  whose  fondness  for  false  rimes  led  her  into 
unpardonable  vagaries,  is  guilty  of  ladies:  babies;  angels: 
candles;  burden:  disregarding;  calmly:  palm-tree;  Goethe: 
duty;  panther:  saunter;  valleys:  palace. 

Surely  Pope  could  not  bring  against  Mrs.  Browning  this 
criticism  which  he  brought  against  his  contemporaries: 

While  they  ring'round.the  same  unvaried  chimes, 
With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes; 
Where'er  you  find  "the  cooling  western  breeze," 
84 


RIME 

In  the  next  line  it  "whispers  through  the  trees;" 
If  crystal  streams  "with  pleasing  murmurs  creep," 
The  reader's  threatened  (not  in  vain)  with  "sleep." 

Hackneyed  rimes  such  as  love:  dove;  poet:  know  it;  bower: 
flower;  soil:  toil;  fair:  hair,  which  give  a  very  commonplace 
tone  to  a  poem,  are  to  be  avoided. 

In  contemporary  poetry  there  is  a  tendency  toward 
slight  variations  in  rune.  Such  poets  as  William  Butler 
Yeats  and  Wilfred  Scawen  Blunt  feel  that  perfect  runes  are 
too  easy,  and  that  most  of  the  interesting  combinations  of 
them  have  been  already  used  too  much.  They  find  a  par- 
ticular charm  in  the  echoes  and  suggestions  of  rime  in  such 
work  as  the  following: 

When  I  hear  others  speak  of  this  and  that 

In  our  fools'  lives  which  might  have  better  gone, 

Complaining  idly  of  too  niggard  fate 

And  wishing  still  their  senseless  past  undone, 

I  feel  a  childish  tremor  through  me  run, 

Stronger  than  reason,  lest  by  some  far  chance 

Fate's  ear  to  our  sad  plaints  should  yet  be  won 

And  these  our  lives  be  thrown  back  on  our  hands. 

I  tremble  when  I  think  of  my  past  years, 

My  hopes,  my  amis,  my  wishes.    All  these  days 

I  might  have  wandered  far  from  love  and  thee. 

But  kind  fate  held  me,  heedless  of  my  prayers, 

A  prisoner  to  its  wise  mysterious  ways, 

And  forced  me  to  thy  feet — ah  fortunate  me! 

(W.  S.  Blunt:    Love  Sonnets  of  Proteus,  IV.) 

Emily  Dickinson's  fondness  for  imperfect  rimes  is  part  of 
the  strange  fragmentary  suggestiveness  of  her  style. 

There  are  a  few  words  in  English  that  have  no  exact 
rimes.  Persons  who  delight  in  writing  letters  to  the  news- 
papers, from  time  to  time  triumphantly  announce  that  they 
have  found  mates  for  some  of  them,  but  these  are  always 
imperfect  and  rather  useless  rimes.  Such  words  are,  April, 

85 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

August,  chimney,  coif,  crimson?  forest,  microcosm,  month, 
nothing,  open,  orange,  rhomb,  scarce,  scarf,  silver,  statue, 
squirrel,  temple,  widow,  window. 

Rime  is  not  only  a  musical  embellishment  to  verse,  but 
a  very  useful  aid  as  well.  It  gives  the  listener  the  pleasure 
of  expectancy  in  the  recurrence  of  sounds  according  to  a 
definite  scheme.  It  helps  him  remember  verses  more  easily. 
It  defines  the  metrical  pattern  of  a  form  so  that  the  listener 
may  know  at  once  whether  to  expect  tetrameter  or  penta- 
meter or  octameter  as  a  recurring  meter.  In  this  way  ar- 
rangements of  rimes  make  a  great  number  of  stanza  forms 
possible  and  add  enormously  to  variety  in  verse. 

A  further  possibility  of  the  use  of  rime  is  to  bring  out 
emphatically  the  important  words  of  a  poem.  Tennyson's 
St.  Agnes'  Eve,  one  of  the  most  perfect  poems  in  the  language, 
is  a  fine  illustration  of  this.  Here  is  the  second  stanza: 

As  these  white  robes  are  soil'd  and  dark, 

To  yonder  shining  ground; 
As  this  pale  taper's  earthly  spark, 

To  yonder  argent  round; 
So  shows  my  soul  before  the  Lamb, 

My  spirit  before  thee, 
So  in'mine  earthly  house  I  am, 

To  that  I  hope  to  be. 
Break  up  the  heavens,  0  Lord!  and  far, 

Thro'  all  yon  starlight  keen, 
Draw  me,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star, 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

Byron's  Isles  of  Greece  furnishes  another  example  of 
emphasis  through  rime: 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon — 

And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea; 
And  musing  there  an  hour  alone, 

I  dream'd  that  Greece  might  still  be  free; 

1  See  below,  p.  92,  Browning's  rime  for  crimson. 

86 


RIME 

For  standing  on  the  Persians'  grave, 
I  could  not  deem  myself  a  slave. 

These  two  instances  show  also  the  possibilities  of  antithesis 
in  the  terminal  words.  Pope,  the  great  master  of  antithesis 
and  epigram,  with  consummate  art  made  his  rimes  serve 
his  purpose: 

But  when  his  own  great  work  is  but  begun 
What  reason  weaves,  by  passion  is  undone  .  .  . 

Passions,  like  elements,  though  born  to  fight, 
Yet,  mix'd  and  soften'd,  in  his  work  unite: 
These  'tis  enough  to  temper  and  employ; 
But  what  composes  man  can  man  destroy? 

(Essay  on  Man,  II.) 

The  most  constant  use  of  antithesis  in  Pope  is  in  the  single 
line,  between  the  word  before  the  cesura  and  the  rime  word, 
e.  g. 

Alike  in  what  it  gives  and  what  denies  .  .  . 

All  are  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole  .  .  . 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees; 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent. 

(Essay  on  Man,  I.) 

Two  principles  in  human  nature  reign, 
Self-love  to  urge,  and  reason  to  restrain  .  .  . 

(Essay  on  Man,  II.) 

If  the  poet  does  not  choose  to  make  use  of  the  emphasis 
of  rime,  he  may  rime  the  less  important  words,  and  phrase 
the  passage  so  that  the  rime  is  scarcely  evident.  In  Keats's 
Endymion  it  has  become  an  ornament  only  apparent  to  an 
ear  very  sensitive  to  rime.  Many  persons  are  quite  familiar 
with  Browning's  My  Last  Duchess  without  realizing  that 
it  is  written  in  rimed  couplets: 

87 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

That  is  my  last  Duchess  painted  on  the  wall, 
Looking  as  if  she  were  alive  I  call 
That  piece  a  wonder,  now:  Fra  Pandolph's  hands 
Worked  busily  a  day  and  there  she  stands. 
WilPt  please  you  sit  and  look  at  her?    I  said 
"Fra  Pandolph"  by  design,  for  never  read 
Strangers  like  you  that  pictured  countenance, 
The  depth  and  passion  of. its  earnest  glance.  .  .  . 

Sometimes  the  useful  functions  of  rime — its  use  in  the 
architectonics  of  a  poem — are  subordinate  to  the  desire  for 
musical  embellishment.  Internal  rime  is  a  case  of  this. 
The  use  of  an  internal  rime  in  the  following  selections  is  more 
for  musical  effect  than  for  emphasis  of  the  thought. 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December; 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow; — vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for  the  lost  Lenore — 
For  the  fair  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Leiiore — 
Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

(Poe:    Raven.) 

We  stood  there  enchanted — and  O  the  delight  of 
The  sight  of  the  stars  and  the  moon  and  the  sea 
And  the  infinite  skies  of  that  opulent  night  of 
Purple  and  gold  and  ivory. 

(J.  W.  Riley:    Moon  Drowned.) 

Beside  discussing  the  uses  and  purpose  of  rime  we  may  say 
something  of  its  possible  arrangements.  Rimes  are  com- 
monly arranged  in  pairs,  or  couplets  (aa,  66,  cc,  dd,  etc.), 
or  else  alternately  (a6a6).  There  may  be  variations  and 
combinations  of  these  two  principles,  such  as,  ababab; 
ababcc',  aabcbc;  abababcc,  etc.  In  quatrains,  alternate 
lines  are  sometimes  left  unrimed,  thus,  xaya.  When  the 
poet  uses  a  rime  scheme  that  is  more  complicated  than  those 
mentioned,  he  must  remember  that  rimes  cannot  be  easily 
recognized  when  more  than  three  lines  intervene,  unless 
these  lines  should  be  couplets,  or  a  quatrain. 

88 


RIME 

The  sestet  of  Rossetti's  sonnet,  House  of  Life,  LXXI, 
The  Choice,  is  an  example.  The  rime  scheme  is  abccba: 

Now  kiss  and  think  that  there  are  really  those, 
My  own  high-bosomed  beauty,  who  increase 
Vain  gold,  vain  love,  and  yet  might  choose  one  way! 
Through  many  years  they  toil;  then  on  a  day 
They  die  not, — for  their  life  was  death, — but  cease; 
And  round  their  narrow  lips  the  mould  falls  close. 

Other  possible  schemes  would  be  abcbca  and  abbcca. 
The  effect  of  this  last  may  be  heard  in  the  following  seven 
line  stanza: 

Let  no  man  ask  thee  anything 
Not  year-born  between  Spring  and  Spring. 
More  of  all  worlds  than  he  can  know, 
Each  day  the  simple  sun  doth  show: 
O  trustier  gloss  than  thou  canst  give 
From  all  wise  scrolls  demonstrative, 
The  sea  doth  sigh  and  the  wind  sing. 

(Rossetti:    Soothsay.) 

This  echoing  of  a  rime  already  satisfied  (anything:  Spring: 
sing)  is  called  tail  rime.  It  is  very  common  in  stanzas  of 
five  or  more  lines. 

For  a  study  of  exquisitely  interwoven  rimes  the  odes  of 
Keats  are  admirable  examples.  The  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn 

has  for  its  rime  scheme,  ababcdedce: 

/ 

O  Atticfshape!  fair  attitude!  with  brede 

Of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought, 
With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed; 

Thou  silent  form!  dost  tease  us  out  of  thought 
As  doth  eternity.    Cold  Pastoral! 

When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste, 
Thou  shalt  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 

Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  say'st, 
89 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

"Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty, — that  is  all 

Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know." 

The  rime  scheme  is  not  exactly  the  same  in  every  stanza 
of  this  ode,  but  there  is  no  line  left  hanging  without  a  rime. 
To  leave  lines  unrimed  in  a  complicated  scheme  is  an  annoy- 
ance to  the  reader.  The  occasional  unrimed  lines  in  Gray's 
odes  hold  the  ear  in  expectation  which  is  never  satisfied. 
Another  principle  is  that  the  same  rime  can  hardly  be  used 
for  more  than  four  lines  in  succession  without  a  comic  effect. 
Christina  Rossetti,  however,  in  her  Passing  Away,  has  written 
twenty-six  lines  on  a  serious  theme,  using  only  one  rime. 
Such  eccentric  attempts  are  monotonous  and  unsuccessful. 
Identical  non-riming  endings  like  perfuming,  spring,  blooming, 
sing  are  annoying,  and  give  the  impression  of  careless  writing. 

Feminine  rimes  are  not  used  as  much  as  masculine.  In 
most  poems  they  are  an  occasional  variation,  or  else  used 
alternately  with  masculine.  When  they  occur  in  quatrains 
they  are  more  usual  at  the  ends  of  the  first  and  third  lines,  as, 

Hark!  hark  my  soul!  Angelic  songs  are  swelling 
O'er  earth's  green  fields,  and  ocean's  wave  beat  shore; 

How  sweet  the  truth  those  blessed  strains  are  telling 
Of  that  new  life  when  sin  shall  be  no  more! 

(Hymnal.    F.  W.  Faber.) 

When  feminine  rimes  are  used  on  the  second  and  fourth 
lines  of  quatrains,  if  the  theme  is  of  a  light  nature,  they 
impart  an  additional  affectation  of  carelessness,  as  in, 

Fair  Cloe  blush'd :    Euphelia  frown'd : 

I  sung,  and  gazed;  I  played  and  trembled : 

And  Venus  to  the  lovers  around 
Remarked  how  ill  we  all  dissembled. 

(Prior.) 

An  example  of  a  similar  disposition  of  feminine  rimes  in  seri- 
ous verse  can  be  found  in  Charles  Wolf's  Burial  of  Sir  John 

90 


RIME 

Moore,  but  this  is  a  rare  exception,  and  in  duple-triple 
rhythm: 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

Except  in  short  lyrics,  feminine  rimes  are  not  used  consecu- 
tively. Mrs.  Browning  has  given  us  a  very  good  example 
of  their  effect : 

It  is  a  place  where  poets  crowned  may  feel  the  hearts'  decaying, 
It  is  a  place  where  happy  saints  may  weep  amid  their  praying: 
Yet  let  the  grief  and  humbleness,  as  low  as  silence  languish ! 
Earth  surely  now  may  give  her  calm  to  whom  she  gave  her  anguish. 

0  poets!  from  a  maniac's  tongue  was  poured  the  deathless  singing! 
0  Christians!  at  your  cross  of  hope,  a  hopeless  hand  was  clinging, 
0  men!  this  man  in  brotherhood  your  weary  path  beguiling, 
Groaned  inly  while  he  taught  you  peace,  and  died  while  ye  were 
smiling. 

(E.  B.  Browning:    Cowper's  Grave.) 

Coleridge  said  that  "double  and  trisyllable  runes  form  a 
lower  species  of  wit,  and,  attended  to  exclusively  for  their 
own  sake,  may  become  a  source  of  momentary  amusement." 
This  judgment  is  rather  hard  on  Byron  and  Browning,  who 
are  especially  fond  of  the  unexpected  turn  given  by  these 
grotesque  rimes. 

'Tis  pity  learned  virgins  ever  wed 

With  persons  of  no  sort  of  education, 
Or  gentlemen,  who,  though  well  born  and  bred, 

Grow  tired  of  scientific  conversation; 
I  don't  choose  to  say  much  upon  this  head, 

I'm  a  plain  man  and  in  a  single  station, 
But — oh!  ye  lords  of  ladies  intellectual, 

Inform  us  truly,  have  they  not  hen-pecked  you  all? 

(Don  Juan.) 
91 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Here  are  a  few  of  Browning's  word-matings:  cup  more 
rose:  up  morose;  can  know:  piano;  eye-holes:  viols;  from 
mice:  promise;  fondly  there:  beyond  lie  three;  fortunes: 
short  tunes;  Pacchierotto:  paint-pot — 0;  ranunculus:  Tommy- 
make-room-for-your-Uncle  us. 

Such  rimes  when  not  frankly  humorous,  are  in  doubtful 
taste,  for  they  call  attention  to  their  own  ingenuity,  and  put 
undue  emphasis  on  unimportant  words.  Of  course,  we 
enjoy  Lowell's  exuberant  riming  in, 

.   .   .  Quite  irresistible 

Like  a  man  with  eight  trumps  in  his  hand  at  a  whist  table 
(I  thought  me  at  first  that  the  rune  was  untwistable, 


Though  I  might  have  lugged  hi  an  allusion  to  Ghristabel. 

But  do  such  rimes  as  the  following  contribute  to  our  appre- 
ciation of  Browning's  Flight  of  the  Duchess? 

What  signified  hats  if  they  had  no  rims  on, 
Each  standing  before  and  behind  like  a  scallop, 
And  able  to  serve  at  sea  for  a  shallop, 

Loaded  with  lacquer  and  looped  with  crimson? 

So  that  the  deer  now,  to  make  a  short  rhyme  on't, 
What  with  our  Venercrs,  Prickers  and  Verderers, 
Might  hope  for  real  hunters  at  length  and  not  murderers, 

And  oh  the  Duke's  tailor,  he  had  a  hot  time  on't! 

One  more  thing  to  mention  with  regard  to  rime  is  that  it 
very  often  forces  a  versifier  to  write  things  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  saying.  Old  Samuel  Butler  said, 

rhyme  the  rudder  is  of  verses, 
With  which  like  ships  they  steer  their  courses. 

(Hudibras  1,  1.) 

With  the  amateur  and  minor  poet  this  is  certainly  true.  The 
weak  versifier  has  to  pad  his  line  with  far-fetched  sLniles 
and  allusions  to  satisfy  the  exigencies  of  rime.  Better  a 
false  rime  than  a  padded  verse.  The  early  work  of  Keats 

92 


RIME 

shows  that  at  first,  even  he  felt  the  restraint  of  poetic  form. 
In  the  fragment,  Calidore,  he  wrote, 

Nor  will  £  bee  buzz  round  two  swelling  peaches, 
Before  the  point  of  his  light  shallop  reaches 
Those  marble  steps, 

and  again, 

There  stood  a  knight,  patting  the  flowing  hair 
Of  his  proud  horse's  mane:    he  was^  withal 
A  man  of  elegance  and  stature  tall. 

An  example  of  immature  workmanship  of  this  sort,  cor- 
rected by  later  revision  is  brought  out  by  a  comparison  of 
the  version  of  the  first  stanza  of  Rossetti'e  Blessed  Damozel 
as  it  appeared  in  The  Germ  in  1850  with  that  of  the  volume, 
Poems,  of  1870: 

The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  heaven; 
Her  blue  deep  eyes  were  deeper  much 

Than  a  deep  water,  even. 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand, 

And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven. 

(1850.) 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even. 

(1870.) 

Though  we  regard  such  blemishes  as  those  in  Keats's  early 
work  as  faults  of  technique,  we  cannot  deny  that  the  riming 
dictionary  has  been  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  "poetic 
thought"  even  among  our  greatest  singers.  Professor 
Richardson  in  a  most  amusing  essay  on  this  subject,4  says: 
"Wordsworth  in  (the  Ode  to  Duty),  and  Swinburne,  else- 
where, are  alike  in  discovering  that  rod  is  one  of  the  very  few 
available  rhymes  for  God.  Both  awkwardly  force  it  into 

4  "The  Morals  of  the  Rhyming  Dictionary."  Yak  Review,  2,  269 
(1913). 

93 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

place,  Wordsworth  calling  duty  a  rod  to  check  the  erring, 
and  Swinburne  declaring  that  'a  creed  is  a  rod.'  Neither 
statement  would  have  been  made  save  in  obedience  to  that 
Stern  Daughter,  the  Rhyming  Dictionary. 

"Poe  was  brought  against  a  similar  grim  wall  of  rhyming 
necessity  when  he  was  forced  to  make  people  dwell  up  in 
the  steeple,  .  .  .  His  most  frank  abandonment  of  the  search 
for  the  magic  word  was  in  Fairy  Land: 

In  the  morning  they  arise, 
And  their  moving  covering 
Is  soaring  to  the  skies 
With  the  tempests  as  they  toss, 
Like — almost  any  thing — 
Or  a  yellow  albatross. 

We  may  close  this  discussion  of  rime  with  another  quo- 
tation from  the  shrewd  old  satirist  Butler: 

But  those  that  write  in  rhyme  still  make 
The  one  verse  for  the  other's  sake; 
For  one  for  sense,  and  one  for  rhyme, 
I  think's  sufficient  at  one  time. 

Another  adornment  of  verse,  which  may  be  called  a  kind 
of  rime,  is  assonance.  This  is  a  similarity  between  only  the 
vowel  sounds  of  different  words,  the  consonants  being  dis- 
regarded; e.  g.,  give:  thick:  fish:  swim;  sett:  step:  net. 
Assonance  was  used  in  Provencal  and  Old  French  poetry, 
and  still  continues  hi  Spanish.  In  English,  it  occurs  inten- 
tionally only  in  forms  imitating  the  meters  of  these  languages. 
An  example  of  this  very  rare  type  of  ornament  is  George 
Eliot's  Song  of  Juan  in  the  Spanish  Gipsy: 

Maiden  crowned  with  glossy  blackness, 

Lithe  as  panther  forest-roaming, 
Long-armed  naead,  when  she  dances, 
On  the  stream  of  ether  floating, — 
Bright,  0  bright  Fcdalma! 
94 


RIME 

Form  all  curves  like  softness  drifted, — 
Wave-kissed  marble  roundly  dimpling, 

Far-off  music  slowly  winged, 
Gently  rising,  gently  sinking, — 
Bright,  0  bright  Fedalma! 

To  appreciate  anything  so  exotic  as  thi&one  must  cultivate 
an  ear  for  it,  just  as  for  the  experiments  with  classical  quan- 
tities made  by  Robert  Bridges. 

Assonance  has  been  used  for  rime  frequently  in  the  free 
and  easy  versifying  of  the  old  ballads;  and  many  of  the 
doubtful  rimes  quoted  in  this  chapter  fromJVlrs.  Browning 
and  others  are  really  cases  of  assonance.  Unintentional 
assonance  between  succeeding  rimes  offends  the  ear  and  shows 
lack  of  finish.  One  of  Keats's  early  attempts  is  guilty  of 
this  blemish: 

Or  a  white  Naiad  in  a  rippling  stream; 
Or  a  rapt  Seraph  in  a  moonlight  beam; 
Or  again  witness  what  with  thee  I've  seen, 
The  dew  of  fairy  feet  swept  from  the  green, 
After  a  night  of  some  quaint  jubilee 
Which  every  elf  and  fay  had  come  to  see. 

(Epistle  to  G.  F.  Mathew.) 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Every  reader  of  poetry  knows  the  experience  of  being 
haunted  by  lines  or  stanzas  of  a  peculiarly  satisfying  beauty. 
His  analysis  of  the  rhythm  and  of  the  imagery  evoked 
may  fail  to  discover  the  reason  for  this  appeal.  There 
seems  to  be  a  magic  in  the  sheer  sound  of  the  words  which 
exalts  certain  passages  of  English  verse  -into  the  order  of 
preeminent  excellence.  This  melody  in  words,  which  makes 
phrases  like,  "Trailing  clouds  of  glory,"  "in  fairy  lands  for- 
lorn," "A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer,"  stand  out  in  our  memo- 
ries, is  called  tone-color.1  We  hear  it  in  lines  like, 

Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 
In  Vallombrosa. 

(Paradise  Lost.) 

Where  the  bright  seraphim  in  burning  row 
Their  loud  uplifted  Angel  trumpets  blow. 

(Milton:    At  a  Solemn  Music.) 

O  wild  West  Wind,  Thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being. 
(Shelley:    Ode  to  West  Wind.) 

O  my  Luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose 
That's  newly  sprung  in  June. 

(Burns:    A  Red  Red  Rose.) 

Melody,  or  tone-color,  in  verse,  is  the  same  thing  as  timbre 
or  quality  in  music — the  characteristic  which  distinguishes 
the  tone  of  the  flute,  violin,  or  cornet  when  producing  notes 
of  the  same  pitch,  duration,  and  intensity.  It  is  by  their 
peculiarly  individual  timbre  that  we  chiefly  recognize  dif- 
ferent sounds;  that  we  can  tell  two  peals  of  bells  apart,  or 

1  Adopted  from  German  tonklang,  tonfarbc 

96 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

distinguish  the  voices  of  our  friends.  It  is  for  the  production 
of  an  individual  timbre  in  his  instrument  that  the  virtuoso 
strives. 

This  melodic  quality  in  verse  is  one  of  the  five  oranges 
which  Stevenson's  juggler,  the  poet,  must  keep  in  the  air 
at  the  same  tune.2  Two  of  the  other  four,  the  form  of  the 
sentence  and  the  choice  of  the  exact  word  for  the  meaning, 
do  not  concern  the  study  of  versification;  the  remaining 
two,  the  rhythm  of  the  phrase  and  the  movement  of  the  verse 
pattern,  have  already  been  discussed.  The  difference  in 
sensitiveness  of  readers  to  certain  of  these  elements  is  what 
causes  such  diversity  of  opinion  and  preference  in  regard 
to  the  poets.  A  reader  who  cares  more  for  variation  in  the 
rhythm  of  the  individual  line  than  for  sweeps  of  rhythm 
through  a  verse  paragraph,  or  for  the  sheer  melody  of  words, 
will  hold  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare  higher  than  that 
of  Milton.  And  all  of  Poe  and  Lanier  and  much  of  Coleridge 
and  Swinburne  will  fail  to  interest  a  reader  deaf  to  tone-color. 

Tone-color  in  poetry  is  a  general  name  for  all  the  technical 
embellishment  of  sound  effects.  It  includes  the  obvious 
devices  of  rime,  the  repetition  of  words,  the  use  of  refrain 
lines  or  refrain  stanzas;  the  less  obvious  ornaments  of  allit- 
eration, assonance,  onomatopoeia;  and  the  extremely  sub- 
tle effects  of  vowel  and  consonantal  sequence.  The  use 
of  rime  and  assonance  at  the  ends  of  lines  was  discussed  in 
the  last  chapter;  they  will  be  taken  account  of  here  only  in 
relation  to  the  other  elements  of  melody. 

The  repetition  of  words  and  phrases  is  a  rhetorical  device 
that  must  be  used  but  sparingly  in  prose,  but  in  verse  it 
may  become  an  important  and  frequently  occurring  trick 
of  technique.  In  the  old  ballads  the  repeating  of  a  phrase 
with  some  slight  addition — what  is  called  "incremental  repe- 
tition"— was  perhaps  originally  the  result  of  seeking  rimes 
in  rapid  composition,  but  it  has  come  to  be  one  of  the  marks 
of  the  ballad  style,  e.  g. 

2  Stevenson:  On  the  Technical  Element  of  Style  in  Literature. 

97 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

O  lang,  lang  may  the  ladies  sit, 

Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand! 

And  lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit 
Wi'  their  gowd  kames  in  their  hair, 

A-waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves! 
For  them  they'll  see  nae  mair. 

(Sir  Patrick  Spens.) 

Incremental  repetition  is  used  in  modern  verse  chiefly  in 
imitations  of  the  archaic  ballad  manner,  in  such  poems  as 
The  Ancient  Mariner  and  Christabel.  The  repetition  of 
single  words,  however,  has  been  very  widely  used  by  numer- 
ous poets  as  a  device  for  linking  together  the  lines  of  a 
stanza.  This  iteration  of  an  identical  sound  and  meaning 
is,  like  rime,  an  aid  to  the  structural  effect.  In  Tennyson's 
In  Memoriam  are  many  examples  of  this,  the  repetition 
binding  together  sometimes  two  rimed  lines,  and  sometimes 
two  unrimed.  Here  it  binds  together  two  stanzas:8 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade; 
Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute; 
Thou  madest  Death;  and  lo,  Thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  Thou  hast  made. 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust: 
Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why, 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die; 
And  Thou  hast  made  him:    Thou  art  just. 

Almost  any  page  of  Swinburne  will  show  examples  of  itera- 
tion, for  he  is  especially  fond  of  all  the  more  obvious  effects 
of  tone-color.  His  iteration  is  more  usually  for  musical 
effect  than  for  the  rhetorical  parallelism  that  aids  the  expres- 
sion of  meaning. 

1  This  as  well  as  the  following  examples  from  Swinburne  are  quoted 
in  Professor  C.  Alphonso  Smith's  monograph,  "Repetition  and  Parallel- 
ism in  English  Verse."  1894. 

98 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

I  have  put  my  days  and  dreams  out  of  mind 
Days  that  are  over,  dreams  that  are  done. 

(Triumph  of  Time.) 

Delight,  the  rootless  flower, 
And  love,  the  bloomless  bower; 
Delight  that  lives  an  hour, 
And  love  that  lives  a  day. 

(Before  Dawn.) 

More  often  Swinburne  prefers  a  chiastic  arrangement  in  these 
repetitions: 

Laurel  is  green  for  a  season,  and  love  is  sweet  for  a  day; 
But  love  grows  bitter  with  reason,  and  laurel  outlives  not  May. 

(Hymn  to  Proserpine) 

Not  a  breath  shall  there  sweeten  the  seasons  hereafter 
Of  the  flowers  or  the  lovers  that  laugh  now  or  weep, 
When  as  they  that  are  free  now  of  weeping  and  laughter 
We  shall  sleep. 

(A  Forsaken  Garden.) 

Sometimes  a  number  of  successive  lines  may  have  each  an 
iterated  word,  e.  g. 

I  shall  sleep,  and  move  with  the  moving  ships, 
Change  as  the  winds  change,  veer  in  the  tide; 
My  lips  will  feast  on  the  foam  of  thy  lips, 
I  shall  rise  with  thy  rising,  with  thee  subside. 

(Triumph  of  Time.) 

A  special  effect  may  be  produced  by  unifying  a  whole  passage 
by  the  use  of  a  frequently  repeated  sound.  The  infinite 
iteration  of  the  waves  is  suggested  in  the  first  stanza  of 
Rossetti's  Sea-Limits  by  this  means: 

Consider  the  sea's  listless  chime; 
Time's  self  it  is  made  audible, — 
The  murmur  of  the  earth's  own  shell, 
99 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Secret  continuance  sublime 
Is  the  sea's  end :    our  sight  may  pass 
No  furlong  further.    Since  time  was, 

This  sound  hath  told  the  lapse  of  time/ 

Poe's  Annabel  Lee  uses  the  similar  device  of  making  half 
of  the  rime  words  identical  through  six  stanzas,  to  express 
the  eddying  repetition  of  the  thought.  And  the  principle 
is  further  carried  out  by  refrain  lines  and  lines  with  repeated 
phrases. 

Poe's  use  of  repetition  is  distinctive,  so  distinctive,  in 
fact,  that  an  imitation  of  it  suggests  parody.  In  several 
of  his  best  known  poems  he  brings  together  in  each  stanza 
two  lines  identical  but  for  one  or  two  words.  In  Ulalume 
he  has  introduced  such  lines,  both  in  succession  and  in  alter- 
nation: 

The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober; 

The  leaves  they  were  crisped  and  sere — 

The  leaves  they  were  withering  and  sere; 
It  was  night  hi  the  lonesome  October 

Of  my  most  immemorial  year; 
It  was  hard  by  the  dim  lake  of  Auber, 

In  the  misty  mid-region  of  Weir, 
It  was  down  by  the  dank  tarn^f  Auber, 

In  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir. 

This  kind  of  repetition  occurs,  though  not  to  so  great  an 
extent,  in  Eulalie,  The  Raven,  The  Bells,  and  several  other  of 
Poe's  pieces. 

Poe's  conscious  artistry  has  had  an  influence  on  many 
subsequent  poets,  but  in  this  trick  of  very  obvious  iteration 
he  has  had  almost  no  followers  in  England  and  America. 
When  tone-color  is  made  so  prominent  an  element  in  verse 
the  reader  feels  more  the  artificiality  of  the  technique  than 
the  emotion  expressed  in  the  poem. 

The  use  of  the  ordinary  type  of  refrain  line,  an  identical, 
or  almost  identical,  line  recurring  regularly  in  each  stanza, 

100 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  frequent  devices  of  our  lyric 
poets.  It  has  been  used  by  all  song  writers  from  the  author 
of  the  Cuckoo  Song,  our  earliest  lyric,  to  the  latest  music 
hall  poetaster.  It  may  be  introduced  into,  or  added  to  any 
stanza  form  the  poet  chooses.  The  refrain  may  be  a  line 
which  fits  naturally  as  a  conclusion  to  the  thought  of  each 
stanza,  and  so  makes  for  a  greater  structural  unity.  George 
Wither's  Shall  I  wasting  in  despair?  is  an  illustration  of  how 
lyrical  structure  may  be  consolidated  through  the  use  of 
a  refrain.  It  begins : 

Shall  I  wasting  in  despair, 

Die  because  a  woman's  fair? 

Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  care 

'Cause  another's  rosy  are? 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day, 

Or  the  flow'ry  mead  in  May, 

If  she  think  not  well  of  me, 

What  care  I  how  fair  she  be? 

The  succeeding  stanzas  carry  out  this  idea  of  the  poet's 
indifference  to  a  woman's  kindness,  virtue  and  high  birth, 
each  ending  with  a  fitting  variation  of  the  refrain  couplet; 
and  the  last  stanza,  epitomizing  the  preceding  four,  con- 
cludes with, 

For  if  she  be  not  for  me, 
What  care  I  for  whom  she  be? 

Here  the  refrain  fits  on  always  in  the  same  way,  as  an  expected 
conclusion.  Another  way  of  using  it  is  to  make  it  fit  on  to 
stanzas  that  are  not  all  alike  in  purport.  Tennyson's  Lady 
of  Shallot  has  two  refrain  lines  that  occur  with  slight  varia- 
tions in  stanzas  that  carry  out  the  narrative  thread  of  the 
poem. 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  world  and  meet  the  sky; 
101 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  thro'  the  field  the  road  runs  by 

To  many  tower 'd  Camelot; 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go. 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Round  an  island  there  below, 

The  island  of  Shallot. 

Sometimes  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad, 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad, 
Or  long-hair'd  page  in  crimson  clad, 

Goes  by  to  tower'd  Camelot; 
And  sometimes  through  the  mirror  blue 
The  knights  come  riding  two  and  two: 
She  hath  no  loyal  knight  and  true, 

The  Lady  of  Shallot. 

Bringing  in  the  refrain  after  lines  of  different  purport  is 
one  of  the  essential  structural  characteristics  of  the  Old 
French  forms,  the  ballade,  triolet,  rondeau,  etc.,  developed 
in  our  verse  during  the  eighties  and  nineties.4  In  these 
forms  the  refrains  are  always  identical  lines,  but  in  other 
verse  types  slight  variations,  like  those  in  the  examples 
just  quoted,  are  sought  for,  rather  than  avoided. 

Though  refrains  are  chiefly  used  in  the  rimed  verse  forms, 
they  have  been  employed  occasionally  in  blank  verse  and  in 
unrimed  lyrics.  Each  blank  verse  paragraph  of  Tennyson's 
Oenone  begins  with, 

0  mother  Ida,  many-fountain 'd  Ida, 
Dear  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die, 

or  sometimes  with  merely  the  second  line  or  a  variant  of  it. 
Several  experiences  of  Percivale  in  Tennyson's  Holy  Grail 
end  with  the  following  lines,  or  some  phrase  very  like  them : 

I  found  myself 

Alone,  and  in  a  land  of  sand  and  thorns, 
And  I  was  thirsty  even  unto  death. 

« See  Chapter  XV. 

102 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Blank  verse  lyrics  employ  refrains  as  a  means  of  setting  off 
stanzas  without  the  help  of  rime.  For  example,  every 
third  line  of  Charles  Lamb's  Old  Familiar  Faces  is, 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces, 

or  some  variant  that  ends  with  the  last  three  words.  These 
refrains  in  unrimed  verse  serve  the  same  purpose  as  those 
in  rimed  stanzas — to  bind  together  the  poetic  form  by  the 
repetition  of  both  sound  and  meaning. 

There  is  also  a  type  of  refrain  in  which  the  meaning  is 
unimportant.  In  these  we  have  an  effect  purely  of  tone- 
color.  Such  are  the  refrains  of  the  once  popular  echo  poems, 
and  the  refrains  which  consist  in  the  iteration  of  a  proper 
name,  like  Edward!  Edward!  or  Binnorie,  0  Binnorie!  in 
the  ballads,  or  like  My  Mary!  or  Dark  Rosaleen!  or  Eileen 
Aroonf  in  the  songs  by  Cowper,  James  Mangan,  and  Gerald 
Griffin.  Tennyson's  Ballad  of  Oriana  will  serve  as  an  illus- 
tration: 

My  heart  is  wasted  with  my  woe, 

Oriana. 
There  is  no  rest  for  me  below, 

Oriana. 

When  the  long  dun  wolds  are  ribb'd  with  snow 
And  loud  the  norland  whirlwinds  blow, 

Oriana, 
Alone  I  wander  to  and  fro, 

Oriana. 

Similar  to  these  are  the  nonsense  refrains  in  old  songs  and 
ballads,  like  "Sing  lullaby,  my  little  boy,"  ''Heigh  nonino!" 
and  "Lillibulero  0  lillibulero!"  And  the  refrains  in  foreign 
languages  are  almost  as  purely  effects  of  sound.  It  is  the 
romantic  strangeness  of  Zcor;  fj,ov  <ras  ayairca  and 
"Hah!  Hah!  la  belle  jaune  giroflee"  that  attracts  us.  Rossetti 
and  Morris  took  advantage  of  the  possibilities  of  refrains, 
the  sheer  sound  of  which  may  give  atmosphere  to  a  poem, 
like  the  effect  of  a  repeated  phrase  in  a  musical  composition. 

103 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  constantly  recurring  refrains  in  the  Sailing  of  the  Sword, 
Two  Red  Roses  across  the  Moon,  Eden  Bower,  Troy  Town, 
and  Sister  Helen  have  no  logical  connection  with  the  poems, 
but  contribute  to  the  tragic  mood;  and  the  unusualness  of 
this  method  gives  a  certain  exotic  flavor.  Here  are  the  first 
two  stanzas  of  Sister  Helen,  but  one  can  appreciate  best  the 
peculiar  effect  of  this  sort  of  repetition  by  reading  the  whole 
poem  aloud. 

"Why  did  you  melt  your  waxen  man, 

Sister  Helen? 

To-day  is  the  third  since  you  began." 
"The  time  was  long,  yet  the  time  ran. 

Little  Brother." 
(0  Mother,  Mary  Mother, 
Three  days  to-day  between  Hell  and  Heaven!)6 

"But  if  you  have  done  your  work  aright, 

Sister  Helen, 

You'll  let  me  play,  for  you  said  I  might." 
"Be  very  still  in  your  play  to-night, 

Little  Brother." 
(0  Mother,  Mary  Mother, 
Third  night,  to-night,  between  Hell  and  Heaven!) 

The  use  of  whole  stanzas  as  refrains  in  lyrics  written  to  be 
sung  is  the  commonest  and  most  obvious  means  of  impressing 
a  mood  through  repetition.  They  are  usually  interpretative 
of  the  description  or  narrative,  and  enforce  the  sentiment  by 
reiterated  suggestion.  Often  they  rely  largely  for  their  effect 
on  sound.  The  refrain  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  for  instance, 
consists  practically  of  the  words  of  the  title  repeated  three 
times.  In  thousands  of  cheap  popular  songs  the  refrain  is 
of  more  importance  than  the  rest  of  the  poem;  the  other 
stanzas  are  frankly  an  excuse  for  the  iteration  of  the  "chorus." 
Ballads  and  songs  not  written  for  musical  accompaniment 
have  phrases  or  single  lines  for  refrains  more  often  than  whole 

-  The  italics  are  the  poet's. 

104 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

stanzas.  In  Tennyson's  Mariana,  however,  which  aims  at 
a  monotony  of  mood,  the  quatrain  of  lament  repeated  after 
each  eight  line  stanza  of  description  completes  the  unified 
impression  of  despairing  grief.  A  common  use  of  long  re- 
frains in  narrative  and  descriptive  poems  is  to  introduce 
them  at  the  beginning  and  then  reserve  them  for  the  conclu- 
sion. In  this  way  the  impression  of  the  mood  is  emphasized 
without  monotony,  as  in  Kipling's  Ballad  of  East  and  West. 
Alfred  Noyes'  Haunted  in  Old  Japan  uses  an  impressionistic 
refrain  for  the  second,  and  again  for  the  concluding  stanza. 

The  use  of  imitative  tone-color  in  words — what  is  called 
onomatopoeia6 — is  an  ornament  occasionally  added  both  to 
verse  and  prose.  In  the  study  of  language  the  term  is  applied 
to  the  formation  of  words  to  imitate  sounds,7  but  in  poetic 
and  prose  style  the  term  includes  suggestive  sounds  and  imi- 
tative or  suggestive  rhythms. 

Some  onomatopoetic  words  are  self-explanatory  imitations 
like,  moo,  meow,  whinney,  cluck,  coo,  cockadoodledoo,  ding-dong, 
zip,  boom,  bang;  and  besides  these  there  are  a  great  number, 
of  the  imitative  character  of  which  we  are  not  quite  so  con- 
scious; as  for  instance,  murmur,  thunder,  groan,  roar,  moan, 
howl,  cough,  snore,  snort,  thump,  squeak,  squeal,  gibberish, 
hubbub,  sizzle,  hoot,  whack,  sputter.  Then  there  is  a  class  of 
words  which  are  not  imitative  of  sounds,  but  which,  by  their 
sound,  contribute  suggestion  to  their  meaning;  for  example, 
gallop,  totter,  toddle,  wriggle,  twinkle,  stumble,  harsh,  huddle, 
hobble,  clutter,  flicker,  helter-skelter,  skedaddle.  Most  words 
of  this  sort  are  not  imitative  in  their  origin,  but  the  fact 
that  we  think  there  is  some  suggestion  in  their  sound  gives 
them  a  greater  vividness  in  connotation.  Onomatopoetic 
words  of  all  kinds,  in  fact,  are  especially  vivid  and  direct. 

In  phrases  of  verse  or  prose,  imitative  effects  may  be  pro- 
duced by  supplementing  an  imitative  word  with  words  that 
will  prolong  its  sound.  In  the  phrase,  "loud  resounding 

6  6vo[j,a  +  TroieiV. 

7  Also  called  echoism. 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

thunder  rolled,"  the  sound  und  in  thunder  is  reinforced  by  the 
sounds  oud,  ound,  and  old.  Similar  reinforcements  of  one 
onomatopoetic  word  occur  in  the  phrases,  "long  drawn  moan 
of  pain,"  and  "stumbling  drunkenly."  In  the  following 
example  from  Tennyson's  Princess,  there  are  but  two  sounds 
directly  imitative,  lisp  and  hiss,  but  they  are  supported  by 
related  sounds  which  make  us  hear  the  effect  as  we  read: 

When  a  light  wind  wakes 
A  lisping  of  the  innumerous  leaf  and  dies, 
Each  hissing  in  his  neighbor's  ear. 

(Tennyson:    Princess.) 

Here  are  three  lines  from  James  Whitcomb  Riley's  When  the 
Frost  is  on  the  Pumpkin,  in  which  the  same  principle  is  used : 

And  the  mumble  of  the  hummin'-birds  and  buzzin'  of  the  bees. 

The  husky,  rusty  russel  of  the  tossels  of  the  corn. 

O,  it  sets  my  heart  a-clickin'  like  the  tickin'  of  a  clock. 

Imitative  effects  may  also  be  produced  without  the  aid 
of  any  single  onomatopoetic  word,  as  in, 

The  broad  ambrosial  aisles  of  lofty  lime 
Made  noise  with  bees  and  breeze  from  end  to  end. 

(Tennyson :    Princess.) 

and, 

And  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands  and  shores  and  desert  wildernesses. 

(Milton:    Comus.) 

Or  sometimes  the  purely  imitative  words  are  incidental  and 
subordinate,  as  in  Tennyson's  description  of  lightning,  which 

.  .  .  strikes 

On  a  wood,  and  takes,  and  breaks,  and  cracks,  and  splits, 
And  twists  the  grain. 

(Princess.) 
106 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

And  in  the  same  poem  occurs, 

The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees. 

Browning  has  a  similar  effect  gained  by  similar  means  in, 

And  the  bees  keep  their  tiresome  whine  round  the  resinous  firs  on 

the  hill, 

(Up  at  a  Villa.) 

where  whine  is  the  only  onomatopoetic  word.  And  there  is 
but  one  imitative  word,  rustling,  in  Poe's  line, 

And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain. 

(Raven.) 

Very  often  the  'limitative  suggestionc  omes  purely  from  the 
rhythm  of  the  line,  or  from  a  combination  of  rhythm  with 
tone-color.  Examples  are, 

Shock'd,  like  an  iron-clanging  anvil  bang'd  with  hammers.8 

(Tennyson:    Princess.) 

Like  a  god's  loosened  locks  slips  undulously 

(Francis  Thompson:    Dread  of  Height.) 

With  many  a  weary  step  and  many  a  groan, 
Up  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone; 
The  huge  round  stone  resulting  with  a  bound, 
Thunders  impetuous  down  and  smokes  along  the  ground. 

(Pope:    Odyssey,  XL) 

Pope  was  especially  clever  at  this  trick  of  making  imitative 
lines.  In  the  illustration  just  quoted  he  has  used  the  devices 
of  repetition  of  words  and  sounds,  alliteration,  obstructing 
the  rhythm  by  extra  accents,  and  prolonging  the  last  line 
into  an  alexandrine.  The  use  of  an  alexandrine  in  heroic 
couplets  was  a  favorite  device  in  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 

8  The  phrasing  with  so  many  trochaic  words  seems  to  me  to  add  to 
the  effect. 

107 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

teenth  centuries  for  producing  suggestive  effects.  There  are, 
for  instance,  Pope's  wounded  snake  and  Cowley's  river: 

Till  the  whole  stream  that  stopp'd  him  shall  be  gone, 
Which  runs,  and  as  it  runs,  for  ever  shall  run  on. 

Dr.  Johnson  approved  of  this  Cowleian  line,  but  could  not 
discover  why  a  pine  in  another  verse  of  Cowley's,  "is 
taller  in  an  alexandrine  than  in  ten  syllables."  9 

Interesting  effects  which  we  may  call  onomatopoeia,  though 
there  is  no  direct  imitation,  appear  in  these  two  examples: 

Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait. 

(Milton:    Paradise  Lost,  VII,  411.) 

the  spires 
Prick'd  with  incredible  pinnacles  into  heaven. 

(Tennyson:  Holy  Grail.) 

The  unusual  rhythm  and  the  alliteration  seem  to  produce 
part  of  the  impression,  but  the  striking  choice  of  the  words 
enormous  and  incredible,  perhaps  has  as  much  to  do  with  it. 
Sidney  Lanier,  whose  poetry  is  especially  interesting  to 
the  student  of  tone-color,  has  attempted  in  his  Symphony 
to  suggest  differences  in  the  quality  of  orchestral  instruments 
by  the  iteration  of  sounds  that  vaguely  correspond  to  these 
different  qualities.  It  is,  of  course,  the  imagery  of  the  passages 
that  helps  us  to  feel  a  special  appropriateness  in  the  sounds. 
The  hautboy  and  bassoon  are  the  most  successfully  suggested: 

And  then  the  hautboy  played  and  smiled, 
And  sang  like  any  large-eyed  child, 
Cool-hearted  and  all  undefiled. 

Then  o'er  sea-lashings  of  commingling  tunes 
The  ancient  wise  bassoons, 

Like  weird 

Gray-beard 

•  Like  some  fair  pine  o'er-looking  all  th'  ignobler  wood. 

(Davideis,  IV.) 
108 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Old  harpers  sitting  on  the  high  sea  dunes, 
Chanted  runes. 

The  prevalence  of  the  sound  nd  in  Francis  Mahony's  Bells 
of  Shannon  is  another  attempt  at  an  extended  use  of  onoma- 
topoeia. 

Few  poets  have  cultivated  the  directly  imitative  sound 
effects  to  any  great  extent.  Tennyson  seems  to  have  cared 
more  for  them  than  most  of  the  major  poets,  but  even  he 
introduced  them  as  a  rare  embellishment.  They  are  so  con- 
spicuous a  form  of  preciosity  that  they  inevitably  call  atten- 
tion to  their  own  artifice. 

The  most  famous  examples  of  whole  poems  that  are 
intended  to  rely  for  their  effect  more  on  tone-color  than  on 
thought  or  even  imagery,  are  Southey's  How  the  Water  Comes 
down  the  Cataract  at  Lodore  and  Foe's  Bells.  Of  these  two 
extended  tours  de  force,  Foe's  is  much  more  subtle,  but  even 
it  can  hardly  be  valued  as  more  than  a  display  of  skilful 
artistry. 

Alliteration  may  be  defined  as  the  identity  of  one  or  more 
initial  consonants  in  words  not  far  apart,  or  in  the  accented 
syllables  of  such  words,  e.  g.,  "love's  deftght";  "dear,  dead 
women";  "Mown  6uds  of  barren  flowers";  "deep  damnation"; 

With  prudes  for  proctors,  dowagers  for  deans. 

(Tennyson:    Princess.) 

Alliteration,  very  obviously,  is  a  matter  of  sounds,  not  of 
letters;  therefore,  the  student  of  this  effect  of  tone-color, 
as  well  as  of  all  others,  must  not  be  confused  by  the  vagaries 
of  English  spelling.  For  example,  the  initial  sounds  of  "cat," 
"quit,"  "choir,"  and  "kick"  are  alike,  though  the  symbols 
for  them  are  different;  and  so  with  "shore,"  "sugar,"  "chaise," 
and  "schist."  On  the  other  hand,  the  initial  consonants  of 
"choir"  and  "chaise"  do  not  alliterate,  though  the  symbols 
for  them  are  alike.  But  the  expression  "cheap  chaise"'  is 

109 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

alliterative  because  the  two  sounds  represented  by  ch  here 
are  so  nearly  alike  that  we  feel  one  as  almost  a  repetition 
of  the  other.  Similarly,  "pfease,"  "Wess,"  and  "Zips"  are  in 
alliteration.  The  point  of  all  this  is,  follow  your  ear  rather 
than  your  eye  in  any  question  pertaining  to  the  melody  of 
verse. 

.  Alliteration  is  an  embellishment  that  has  been  common  in 
our  poetry,  and  in  our  language  itself,  from  the  earliest  times. 
We  see  an  innate  popular  fondness  for  it  in  colloquial  and 
proverbial  expressions  like,  "A  cat  may  look  at  a  king," 
"Look  before  your  leap,"  "last  but  not  least"  "thick  and  thin" 
"rough  and  ready"  "first  and  foremost"  "far  and  few" 
"time  and  tide"  "forget  and  forgive"  "kith  and  kin"  In 
this  last  case,  because  of  our  fondness  for  alliteration,  we  have 
an  archaic  word,  kith,  retained  in  use  only  in  this  expression. 
We  find  the  same  neatness  of  phrase  hi  easily  remembered 
alliterative  titles  like,  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,  A  Death  in  the  Desert. 

Our  fondness  for  this  sort  of  sound  repetition  has  much 
to  do  with  the  popularity  of  certain  quotations.  For  example, 
are  not  such  often  used  lines  as, 

In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free, 

(Midsummer  Night's  Dream.) 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve, 

(Ibid.) 

and, 

But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined, 

(Macbeth.) 

popular  as  much  for  the  ear-catching  quality  of  their  allitera- 
tion as  for  the  aptness  of  their  meaning?  This  point  may 
be  more  clearly  brought  out  by  citing  Poe's 

To  the  glory  that  was  Greece 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome, 

(To  Helen.) 
110 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

which,  though  it  has  been  quoted  a  thousand  times,  seems  to 
me  to  have  no  special  felicity  in  choice  of  words  other  than 
that  imparted  by  the  initial  g's  and  r's. 

In  Old  English  verse  alliteration  was  an  essential  struc- 
tural element.  The  stressed  syllables  of  the  important  words 
were  bound  together  by  the  repetition  of  initial  sounds,  as, 
for  example, 

Bord  and  brad  swyrd         brune  helmas. 

Structural  alliteration  had  a  revival  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury,10 but  since  then  has  been  obsolete.  Alliteration  that 
is  ornamental,  however,  has  persisted  hi  all  English  poetry 
down  to  the  present  day.  Chaucer,  who  scoffed  at  the 
"rum,  ram,  ruff"  verse,11  still  used  frequent  alliteration  to 
embellish  his  lines,  e.  g. 

Al  ful  of  fresshe  floures,  whyte  and  rede. 
He  was  as  fresh  as  is  the  month  of  May. 
He  sleep  namore  than  dooth  a  nightingale. 

(Canterbury  Tales,  Prologue.) 

Excessive  alliteration,  which  was  characteristic  of  popular 
Elizabethan  verse,  as  it  still  is  of  childish  tongue-twisting 
rimes  and  circus  advertisements,  was  also  ridiculed  by  Shake- 
speare.12 But  he  used  it  himself,  in  moderation,  as  one  of 
the  melodious  effects  of  his  verse. 

In  general,  the  modern  use  of  alliteration  in  verse  is  purely 

10  See  example  quoted  from  Piers  Plowman,  above,  p.  32. 

11  Canterbury  Tales,  Parson's  Prologue. 

u  Quince,  the  Prologue  (Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  V,  i),  says, 

"Whereat  with  blade  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 
He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast." 

Holof ernes  (Love's  Labour's  Lost,  IV,  ii)  says  he  "will  something  affect 
the  letter  for  it  argues  facility."  And  Kent  (King  Lear,  II,  ii),  when 
reproved  for  his  bluntness,  embellishes  his  speech  with, 

"the  wreath  of  radiant  fire 
On  flickering  Phoebus'  front." 
Ill 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

ornamental,  an  effect  of  tone-color.  The  use  of  it  in  these 
couplets  of  Pope,  for  instance,  is  to  add  a  certain  pleasing 
finish: 

Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  retains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 

While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky 
And  soften'd  sounds  along  the  waters  die. 

(Rape  of  the  Lock.) 

The  prominence  of  this  ornamental  effect  gives  it  some- 
thing of  an  italicizing  force  to  the  alliterated  expressions. 

Alliteration,  too,  has  never  altogether  lost  its  original 
structural  purpose.  It  may  have  an  effect  of  binding  to- 
gether phrases  and  lines.  In  the  following  lines  of  Pope, 
the  antithesis  in  the  words  is  emphasized  by  the  iteration 
of  their  initial  sounds: 

To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 

Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame. 
Mere  curious  pleasure  or  ingenious  pain. 

(Essay  on  Man.) 

And  sometimes  a  whole  passage  may  be  linked  together 
subtly  by  an  interwoven  alliteration  that  extends  from  line 
to  line.  This  from  Macbeth  may  illustrate: 

Besides,  this  Duncan 

Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels  trumpet-tongued  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off; 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubim  horsed 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. 

112 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Each  sound  underscored  in  this  passage  occurs  at  least  twice 
within  hearing  distance;  initial  h  occurs  oftenest,  but  chiefly 
on  unstressed  syllables;  initial  6  occurs  six  times,  and  initial 
d  four.  Another  case  of  the  binding  together  of  line  groups 
by  alliteration  may  be  seen  in  some  of  the  stanzas  of  Collins's 
unrimed  Ode  to  Evening. IZ 

In  all  the  passages  from  which  examples  of  alliteration 
have  been  cited  so  far,  the  repetition  is  not  frequent  enough 
to  be  an  expected  mannerism  of  style.  That  it  frequently 
becomes  so  in  Swinburne  is  one  of  the  commonest  criticisms 
charged  against  him.  Some  of  his  passages  are  alliterated 
so  consistently  on  the  tonic  syllable — where  it  is  always 
most  conspicuous, — that  the  device  becomes  as  prominent 
as  it  was  in  old  English  verse.  For  example: 

Low  down  where  the  thicket  is  thicker  with  thorns  than  with 
leaves  in  the  summer. 

Shrill  shrieks  in  faces  the  blind  bland  air  that  was  mute  as 

a  maiden, 
Stung  into  storm  by  the  speed  of  our  passage,  and  deaf  when 

we  past. 

(Hesperia.) 

And  again: 

From  the  lips  everliving  of  laughter  and  love  everlasting, 
that  leave 

In  the  cleft  of  his  heart  who  shall  kiss  them  a  snake  to  cor- 
rode it  and  cleave. 

So  glimmers  the  flower  into  glory,  the  glory  recoils  into 
gloom. 

(Garden  of  Cymodoce.) 

Such  an  excessive  use  seems  to  most  ears  a  blemish.  It  can, 
however,  be  effective  if,  as  in  the  following  pair  of  lines,  a 
sense  of  monotony  is  the  aim: 

13  Professor  Bronson's  edition  of  Collins,  p.  Ixix. 

113 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

O  wind,  0  wingless  wind  that  walk'st  the  sea, 
Weak  wind,  wing-broken,  wearier  wind  than  we. 

(On  the  Cliffs.) 

But  even  Swinburne  recognizes  a  distinction  in  the  conso- 
nants he  chooses  to  alliterate.  The  gutturals,  for  instance, 
unless  relieved  by  a  liquid,  as  in  the  "gloom-into-glory" 
passage  just  quoted,  are  harsh  and  unpleasant;  and  6  has 
a  conspicuous  explosiveness — witness  the  delightful  ab- 
surdity of, 

Made  meek  as  a  mother  whose  bosom  beats 
bound  with  the  bliss-bringing  bulk  of  a 
balm-breathing  baby, 

in  Swinburne's  parody  of  himself  in  Nyphalidia.  This  same 
explosive  effect  of  6  is  turned  to  advantage  in  the  suggestive 
lines  of  Browning, 

That  bubble,  they  were  bent  on  blowing  big, 
He  had  blown  already  till  he  burst  his  cheeks. 

The  sound  s  is  another  which  cannot  be  excessively  alliterated 
without  an  unpleasant  effect. 

Alliteration,  as  we  have  considered  it  so  far,  has  been 
merely  the  repetition  of  the  prominent  consonants  of  verse 
passages.  The  effect  is  much  more  subtle  and  makes  a  finer 
ornament  to  verse  when  consonants  in  less  conspicuous 
places  are  also  repeated.  This  effect,  as  well  as  alliteration 
proper,  is  included  in  what  we  may  call  consonantal  sequence,14 
the  iteration,  change,  and  blending  of  the  successive  conso- 
nant sounds  of  a  passage. 

The  consideration  of  consonant  sequence  is  concerned 
with  what  sounds  go  well  together  and  what  do  not,  and  what 
effects  certain  sequences  may  give.  The  principle  under- 
lying it  is  the  same  as  that  under  all  other  effects  of  tone- 

14  Sometimes  called  Syzygy. 

114 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

color — that  the  repetition  of  like  sounds,  or  the  blending  of 
closely  related  sounds,  whether  of  lines,  phrases,  words, 
consonants,  or  vowels,  is,  with  some  reservations,  a  pleasing 
embellishment  in  verse.  The  reason  may  be  that  repetition 
in  some  form  makes  a  passage  or  an  expression  easier  to 
pronounce,  easier  to  remember,  and  more  emphatic. 

Lines  which  seem  to  have  more  of  the  elusive  "magic" 
of  sound  which  charms  the  reader,  are  patterned  in  a  subtle 
and  sometimes  elaborately  wrought  web  of  repetitions. 
Here  are  three  lines  from  Francis  Thompson  s  Sister  Songs 
patterned  with  alliteration,  both  initial  and  internal,  of  the 
three  closely  related  liquids  m,  n,  ng: 

Memnonian  lips! 

Smitten  with  singing  from  thy  mother's  east, 
Andjnurmurous  with  music  not  their  own. 

Lanier's  line, 

A  velvet  flute-note  fell  down  pleasantly, 

seems  to  have  a  sound  suggestive  of  the  meaning,  partly 
through  the  smoothness  of  the  repeated  1's,  and  perhaps 
partly  through  the  epithet  velvet  and  the  weak  ending  of  the 
line.  A  repetition  of  I  also  characterizes  these  lines  from 
Poe's  Sleeper: 

The  rosemary  nods  upon  the  grave; 
The  lily  lolls  upon  the  wave; 
Wrapping  the  fog  about  its  breast, 
The  ruin  moulders  into  rest; 

Looking  like  Lethe,  see!  the  lake 
A  conscious  slumber  seems  to  take, 
And  would  not,  for  the  world,  awake. 
All  Beauty  sleeps! — and  lo!  where  lies 
Irene,  with  her  Destinies! 

The  musical  smoothness  fitting  to  the  theme  comes  from 

115 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

the  extreme  use  of  1's  supported  by  other  liquids  r,  m,  n. 
The  first  line, 

The  rosemary  nods  upon  the  grave, 

is  a  blending  of  r,  m,  n,  with  the  addition  of  a  repeated  z. 

A  very  pleasing  effect  through  consonant  repetition  is 
heard  in  the  phrase  "immortal  amarant"  where  three  conso- 
nants in  one  fine  sounding  word  are  echoed  in  the  following 
word.  The  same  principle  of  tone-color  gives  character  to 
Coleridge's 

A  damsel  with  a  dulcimer, 

(Kublah  Khan.) 

and  Milton's 

With  heaven's  artillery  fraught  comes  jattling  on 
Over  the  Caspian 

(Paradise  Lost,  II.) 

The  mere  roughness  or  smoothness  of  a  verse  depends 
chiefly  upon  whether  it  contains  harsh  combinations  of 
consonants  difficult  to  pronounce.  The  stops,  p,  b,  t,  d,  g,  k, 
naturally  do  not  blend  as  easily  in  successions  of  speech 
sounds  as  do  the  liquids  or  the  continuants.  Words  in  which 
many  consonants  are  grouped  with  but  few  vowels  are  diffi- 
cult to  pronounce  smoothly.  Such  words  as  the  following, 
with  five  or  six  consonants  to  a  single  vowel,  are  obstructions 
in  a  line  of  verse:  stretched,  screeched,  scratched,  strengths, 
staunched,  squelched.  On  the  other  hand,  vocalic  words  are 
easy  to  pronounce  and  therefore  euphonious.  They  seem 
to  have  a  beauty  apart  from  their  meaning.  The  following 
words,  which  I  think  most  readers  will  agree  have  a  pleasing 
sound,  are  made  up  almost  wholly  of  vowels  and  liquids 
(which  are  almost  the  same  as  vowels)  and  contain  no 
stopped  sounds:  harmony,  harmonious,  angel,  orison,  imme- 
morial, Vlalume,  Lenore,  ethereal,  vermillion,  oriflamme. 
Such  words  make  for  smoothness  and  beauty  in  verse.  Of 

116 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

course  these  perfectly  vocalic  words  are  unusual;  one  could 
not  compose  verses  exclusively  of  them.  But  a  comparison 
of  the  two  lists  I  have  just  given  will  show  what  to  seek  and 
what  to  avoid,  where  a  facile  flow  of  rhythm  is  the  end  de- 
sired. More  particularly,  the  careful  distribution  of  the 
stopped  consonants,  rather  than  the  avoidance  of  them, 
is  what  the  versifier  should  aim  at. 

The  most  conspicuous  of  all  English  sounds  is  the  sibilant. 
Its  prominence  may  become  almost  comic  in  the  drawled 
hymn-singing  of  a  congregation,  and  its,  persistence  even 
in  low  toned  speech  is  indicated  in  the  onomatopoetic  word 
whisper.  The  word  "sibilant"  applies  to  any  of  the  hissing 
sounds,  s,  z,  sh,  ch  (tsh),  and  j.  An  excessive  alliteration  of 
any  one  of  these  or  of  several  combined,  has  generally  been 
avoided  by  the  poets.  Tennyson  declared  he  "never  put 
two  s's  together  in  any  verse."  Avoiding  the  sibilants  he 
called  "kicking  the  geese  out  of  the  boat."15  And  Shelley 
in  his  first  draft  of  the  Ode  to  the  West  Wind  wrote, 

Lulled  by  the  silence  of  his  crystal  streams, 
but  later  changed  this  to, 

Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams.18 

Shakespeare,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not  seem  to  fear  the 
sibilants.  A  famous  sonnet  begins, 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 

and  in  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  we  have, 

Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song, 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. 

15  Memoir  by  his  son,  ii:  14. 

16  Shelley,  following  Milton,   adheres  in  this  line  to  the  classical 
accent  crystalline  (Gk.  KpwrdAXwos). 

117 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  Milton  seemed  positively  fond  of  sibilant  combinations, 
as,  for  example: 

Through  the  soft  silence  of  the  listening  night. 

(Circumcision.) 

So  in  his  seed  all  nations  shall  be  blest. 
And  seat  of  Salmanasser  whose  success. 

(Paradise  Lost.) 

If  a  lesser  poet  than  Milton  had  written  these  last  two  lines, 
I  fear  it  would  go  hard  with  him.  And  Macbeth's, 

if  the  assassination 

Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch, 
With  his  surcease,  success, 

is  particularly  reprehensible  to  me  because  the  preciosite  of 
the  expression  shows  that  the  sibilants  here  are  intentional, 
not  careless  slips. 

But  Shakespeare  and  Milton  are  exceptions  among  our 
verse  technicians  in  their  use  of  sibilants;  most  careful 
poets  avoid  these  sounds  as  much  as  possible.  This  is  par- 
ticularly true  of  song  writers,  for  in  singing,  hissing  sounds 
are  unpleasantly  prominent.  One  writer,  John  Thelwell, 
went  so  far  as  to  compose  a  Song  wthout  a  Sibilant. 

As  all  consonants  are  more  conspicuous  in  emphasized 
syllables,  lines  phrased  with  extra  accents  are  especially 
likely  to  introduce  roughness  and  difficulty.  Browning's 
incredible  line, 

Irks  care  the  crop-full  bird?    Frets  doubt 
the  maw-crammed  beast." 

(Rabbi  Ben  Ezra.) 

illustrates  this  point.  The  extra  accented  words  Irks  and 
Frets,  and  the  heavy  syllables  -futt  and  -crammed  bring 

17  Cf.  the  smoothness  of  the  passage  in  the  Authorized  Version  which 
probably  suggested  the  line:  "Doth  the  wild  ass  bray  when  he  hath 
grass?  or  loweth  the  ox  over  his  fodder?"  (Job,  VI:  5.) 

118 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

together  most  conspicuously  such  awkward  combinations 
as  ksk  and  mdb.  Here  are  two  examples  of  the  same  principle 
in  Lowell: 

Fresh  blood  in  Time's  shrunk  veins  make  mirth 
and, 

laughing  hunts  the  loath  drudge  round. 

The  obstruction  to  the  rhythm  in  these  lines  is  quite  inap- 
propriate to  the  thought. 

Poe,  whose  complete  mastery  of  such  details  made  him  a 
merciless  critic  of  technique,  annihilated  one  Algernon 
Henry  Perkins  for  writing  the  line, 

Its  clustered  stars  beneath  Spring's  footsteps  meets, 

"in  which  the  consonants  are  more  sadly  clustered  than  the 
stars.  The  poet  who  would  bring  uninterruptedly  together 
such  letters  as  th,  s,  p,  and  r,  has  either  no  ear  at  all,  or  two 
unusually  long  ones.  The  word  'footsteps,'  moreover,  should 
never  be  used  in  verse.  To  read  the  line  quoted,  one  must 
mouth  like  Forrest  and  hiss  like  a  serpent."18 

Triple  rhythm  feels  even  more  than  duple,  the  hindrance 
of  awkward  consonant  combinations  in  heavy  or  extra  ac- 
cented syllables.  In  the  following  three  lines  the  rapid  ana- 
pestic  movement  is  suddenly  checked  by  the  sheer  difficulty 
of  pronouncing  first,  the  sequence,  kskoldsp,  and  then,  the 
uncouth  word  stretched,  which  occurs  in  a  place  where  a 
light  syllable  is  expected. 

The  stars  on  their  way  from  Atlantic^  cold  spray 

O'er  the  proud  Appalachian's  crest 
Stretched  long  fingers  of  light  through  the  dusk  of  the  night. 

Naturally,  this  sense  of  difficulty  which  is  imparted  by 
irregularities  in  rhythm  and  by  cluttering  consonants  may  be 

"Foe's  Works,  "Virginia  Ed.,"  XI,  115. 

119 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

exactly  the  thing  desired  in  a  verse  to  produce  a  suggestive 
effect.  The  two  lines, 

Along  the  narrow  valley  rough  and  high, 
and, 

Straight  through  the  deep  precipitate  rock  gorge, 

have  about  the  same  meaning;  but  the  former  with  its  even 
rhythm  and  its  freedom  from  stopped  consonants  is  pitifully 
weak  compared  with  the  latter,  which  is  made  up  of  rhythmic 
and  consonantal  obstructions.  The  difficult  consonants, 
without  the  help  of  rhythmic  change,  produce  the  effect  in 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke. 

(Gray:    Elegy.) 

And  the  reader  must  plow  painfully  through  many  hard 
consonantal  sequences  in  the  three  following  onomatopoetic 
lines,  though  there  are  but  two  interfering  extra  accents:19 

O'er  bog  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 
With  head,  hands,  wings  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 
And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies. 

(Paradise  Lost,  II.) 

Browning  has  given  a  huddled  and  cluttered  effect  to  his 
anapestic  movement  in  the  suggestive  line, 

At  the  foot  of  your  rotten-planked  rat-riddled  stairs. 

(Master  Huges  of  Saxe-Gotha.) 

And  there  is  an  appropriate  tightness  about  the  expressions 
slrici  calyx  and  music's  bud  in  Lanier's 

In  o'er-strict  calyx  lingering, 

Lay  music's  bud  too  long  unblown. 

(Beethoven.) 
19  Rough  and  hands. 

120 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

The  clash  of  unusual  consonant  repetition  is  brought  out  by 
the  inverted  word  order  in  these  two  lines  of  Pope: 

Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots  sword-knots  strive, 
Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches  coaches  drive, 

(Rape  of  the  Lock,  I.) 

while  the  line  (from  the  same  poem,  Part  V), 

Fans  clap,  silks  rustle  and  tough  whalebones  crack, 

uses  merely  extra  accents  to  produce  the  same  effect. 

Sometimes  these  extra  accents  and  cluttering  consonants 
may  be  employed  for  a  sudden  comic  turn  in  light  verse  by 
tripping  the  reader  in  a  rapid  passage,  e.  g. 

When  papers  speak  with  puff  and  praise 
Of  kings,  quack  medicine,  railroads,  plays 

(T.  Robertson:    Song  in  Society.) 

I'll  never  throw  dust  in  a  juryman's  eyes, 

(Said  I  to  myself — said  I,) 
Or  hoodwink  a  judge  who  is  not  over-wise, 

(Said  I  to  myself — said  I,) 
Or  assume  that  the  witnesses  summoned  hi  force 
^n  Exchequer,  Queen's  Bench,  Common  Pleas,  or  Divorce, 
Have  perjured  themselves  as  a  matter  of  course, 
(Said  I  to  myself — said  I !) 

(W.  S.  Gilbert:    lolanthe.) 

Perhaps  the  most  familiar  examples  of  this  sort  of  thing  are 
to  be  found  in  Kipling,  when  he  ruthlessly  rides  through 
uncouth  words  and  heathen  names,  for  example: 

You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din. 
You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din. 

(Gunga  Din.) 
or, 

While  the  Big  Drum  says, 

With  'is  '  'rowdy-do wdy-dow!" — 
"Kiko  kissywarshti  don't  you  hamsher  argy  jow?" 

(Rout  Marchin'). 
121 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Vowel  sequence  concerns  the  effects  of  repetition,  change, 
or  grouping  in  the  successive  prominent  vowel  sounds  of 
a  passage.  To  be  accurate  in  his  recognition  of  likenesses 
and  differences  in  vowel  sounds  the  student  would  find  some 
reading  in  elementary  phonetics  useful.20  The  poet  and  the 
student  of  poetry  must  cultivate  an  "ear  mind"  rather  than 
an  "eye  mind."  The  caution  given  in  the  discussion  of  the 
consonants  must  be  repeated  here  with  regard  to  the  vowels : 
English  spelling  bears  but  a  vague  and  illogical  relation  to 
English  pronunciation.  For  example,  the  symbol  a  is  used 
for  nine  different  sounds:  father,  fat,  fate,  fare,  fall,  want, 
any,  villa,  village;  there  are  twenty-one  symbols  for  the  vowel 
which  occurs  in  fate  and  almost  as  many  for  that  in  pool; 
and  the  vowel  sound  represented  by  the  symbol  i,  as  in  fine, 
is  in  reality  a  diphthong  (a+i)  and  is  variously  represented 
in  the  spelling  of  height,  aisle,  eye,  die,  by.  The  reader 
who  uses  his  eye  more  than  his  ear  in  reading  verse  will 
see  the  same  vowel  symbol  occurring  ten  times  in  the  line, 


Whilst  birds,  in  wild  swift  vigils  circling  skim, 


but  the  reader  who  follows  readily  by  ear,  can  distinguish 
four  different  vowel  sounds  in  it. 

The  principle  upon  which  the  effects  of  vowel  sequences 
depend  is  that  of  the  other  sources  of  melody  in  verse — that  a 
moderate  degree  of  repetition  of  sounds  is  agreeable,  but  an 
excess  of  it  is  unpleasant.  The  repetition  may  be  of  the  same 
vowel,  or  of  the  same  vowel  and  consonant  together  (i.  e., 
internal  rime),  or  it  may  be  a  sequence  of  related  vowels 
(e.  g.,  all  long  or  all  short).  Here  are  some  lines  from  Keats 
which  seem  to  me  to  gain  distinction  through  some  kind  of 
vowel  iteration: 

With  many  more  the  brawniest  in  assault. 

Of  Ops  the  queen  all  clouded  round  from  sight. 

10  For  example,  Soames  and  Victor:  Introduction  to  English,  German, 
and  French  Phonetics. 

122 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Just  at  the  self-same  beat  of  Time's  wide  wings. 
Could  glimmer  on  their  tears;  when  their  own  groans. 

For  Fate 

Had  pour'd  a  mortal  oil  upon  his  head, 
A  disanointing  poison. 

(Hyperion.) 

Full  on  this  casement  shone  the  wintry  moon, 
And  threw  warm  gules  on  Madeline's  fair  breast, 
As  down21  she  knelt  for  heaven's  grace  and  boon; 
Rose-bloom  fell  on  her  hands  together  prest. 

(Eve  of  St.  Agnes.) 

In  most  cases  of  a  successful  use  of  this  device  the  iterated 
vowels  occur  on  stressed  syllables,  although  in  the  second 
and  third  examples  just  quoted  they  do  not.  The  effect 
becomes  monotonous  and  unpleasant  when  three  iterated 
vowels  follow  in  immediately  successive  syllables,  as  in  the 
hideous  example  below,  which  Lanier22  gives  to  illustrate 
this  point: 

'Tis  May-day  gay:  wide-smiling  skies  shine  bright, 
Through  whose  true  blue  cuckoos  do  woo  anew 
The  tender  spring. 

Such  effects  as  this  everyone  will  agree  are  bad,  but  a 
critic  must  beware  of  arbitrary  generalizations  in  the  field 
of  tone-color.  The  reader's  ear  must  determine  the  merits 
of  each  case.  The  point  of  taste  is  most  difficult  to  decide 
where  there  is  a  close  repetition  of  both  vowel  and  consonant. 
For  example,  is  Byron's 

Friendship  shifts  with  the  sun-beam, 

(Fill  the  Goblei  Again.) 

21  The  diphthong  in  down  is  really  a  +  u,  and  therefore  blends  with 
the  long  u's  of  the  rest  of  the  passage. 
28  Op.  cit.,  p.  302. 

123 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

to  be  regarded  as  an  ornament  or  a  blemish?  Milton  scoffed 
at  his  opponent,  Bishop  Hall,  for  writing, 

Teach  each  hollow  grove  to  sound  his  love, 
but  he  himself  later  wrote, 

Manliest,  resolutest,  breast,*1 
As  the  magnetick  hardest  iron  draws. 

The  repetitions  in  Rossetti's 

It  was  Duke  Luke  did  this, 

(Staff  and  Scrip.) 

and  Francis  Thompson's, 

Of  twilight,  violet-cassocked  acolyte, 

(Orient  Ode.) 

displease  my  ear,  yet  both  cases  are  evidently  studied  effects 
by  poets  with  a  subtle  ear  for  melody.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  echo  of  the  sound  or  through  Tennyson's  line, 

Laborious  orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere, 

(Princess.) 

seems  to  me  to  add  a  predositi  which  successfully  hints  the 
intricacy  of  the  carving  described.  And  Kipling's  line, 

On  thin,  tin,  crackling  roofs, 

(Native  Born.) 

I  should  call  another  good  use  of  repeated  sound,  because  it 
adds  suggestion  to  the  line.  But  who  shall  decide  such  ques- 
tions which  must  depend  upon  individual  taste? 

There  have  been  attempts  to  attribute  special  appro- 
priateness to  the  different  vowel  sounds  when  one  of  them  is 
made  to  predominate  in  a  passage.  Such  theories  may  sound 

u  Lowell:  Essay  on  Milton. 

124 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

convincing  when  illustrated  by  single  examples,  but  search 
for  further  cases,  or  a  little  ingenuity  in  composition  may 
easily  disprove  these  theories.  For  instance,  one  might  for- 
mulate an  ingenious  hypothesis  of  the  melodic  effect  of  iterat- 
ing the  sound  of  the  long  close  o,  as  illustrated  in  any  one 
of  the  following  passages,  but  is  it  possible  to  formulate  a 
theory  of  sound  and  thought  correspondence  that  will  hold 
for  all  of  them? 

Marvel  of  marvels,  if  I  myself  shall  behold 
With  mine  own  eyes  my  King  in  His  city  of  gold; 
Where  the  least  of  lambs  is  spotless  white  in  the  fold, 
Where  the  least  and  last  of  saints  in  spotless  white  is  stoled, 

Cold  it  is,  my  beloved,  since  your  funeral  bell  was  toll'd: 
Cold  it  is,  0  my  King,  how  cold  alone  on  the  wold! 

(Christina  Rossetti:  Marvel  of  Marvels.) 

Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered  and  rolled; 
Heavy  to  get,  and  light  to  hold; 
Hoarded,  bartered,  bought  and  sold, 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled: 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  church-yard  mould; 
Price  of  many  a  crime  untold. 

(Hood:    Miss  Kilmansegg.) 

These  were  days  when  my  heart  was  volcanic 

As  the  scoriae  rivers  that  roll — 

As  the  lavas  that  restlessly  roll 
Their  sulphurous  currents  down  Yaanek 

In  the  ultimate  climes  of  the  pole — 
That  groan  as  they  roll  down  Mount  Yaanek 

In  the  realms  of  the  boreal  pole. 

(Poe:     Ulalume,) 

Their  orbs  are  troublously 

Over-gloomed  and  over-glowed  with  hope  and  fear  of  things  to  be. 
(Francis  Thompson:     Mistress  of  Vision.) 
125 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

I  cannot  find  sufficient  evidence  for  attaching  any  special 
mood  to  any  single  vowel  effect.  The  only  principle  that 
seems  justified  by  the  practice  of  English  poets  is  the  very 
obvious  and  general  one  that  a  preponderance  of  long  vowels 
seems  to  make  a  passage  move  slower,  and  therefore  adds 
suggestive  sound  to  ideas  implying  length,  space,  distance, 
time,  languor,  weariness,  dignity,  or  solemnity;  and  that  the 
short  vowels,  which  seem  to  give  rapidity  of  movement,  add 
expressiveness  to  ideas  implying  lightness,  speed,  delicacy, 
frivolity,  etc.  The  first  stanza  of  Gray's  Elegy  has  four- 
fifths  of  its  stressed  vowels  long,  and  the  whole  poem  includes 
many  sequences  like, 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear, 

or, 

Grayed  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn. 

Bryant's  Thanatopsis  gains  much  of  its  solemn  dignity 
through  a  prevalence  of  long  vowels — especially,  in  one  part, 
through  long  o's  and  u's  which  have  a  great  sonorousness 
when  followed  by  a  liquid,  as  in  old,  tomb,  rolls,  Oregon, 
along,  etc.  Here  are  some  further  illustrations  of  single 
lines  the  import  of  which  is  enhanced  by  the  hinted  onomato- 
posia  which  the  prevalence  of  long  vowels  may  add: 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seem'd  the  same. 

Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave;  we  will  no  longer  roam. 

(Tennyson:    Lotus-Eaters.) 

The  long  day  wanes:  the  slow  moon  climbs:  the  deep 
Moans  round  with  many  voices. 

(Tennyson:     Ulysses.) 

Holding  thine  ear  close  to  the  hollow  ground 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  V,  iii.) 
126 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold. 

(Paradise  Lost,  IV,  238.) 

The  nymph  exulting  fills  with  shouts  the  sky, 
The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  reply. 

(Pope:    Rape  of  the  Lock,  3.) 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean — roll! 

(Byron:   Childe  Harold,  IV.) 

Blake's  Cradle  Song  is  an  exquisitely  musical  lullaby  built 
chiefly  on  the  repetition  of  two  long  vowel  sounds.  In  the 
first  stanza,  the  vowel  in  sweet  predominates,  in  the  third, 
the  diphthong  in  smiles,  and  the  other  six  stanzas  echo  these 
two  sounds: 

Sweet  dreams,  form  a  shade24 
O'er  my  lovely  infant's  head! 
Sweet  dreams  of  pleasant  streams 
By  happy,  silent,  moony  beams! 

Sweet  smiles  in  the  night 
Hover  over  niy  delight 
Sweet  smiles,  mother's  smile, 
All  the  livelong  night  beguile. 

The  rapidity  of  movement  which  stressed  short  vowels 
contribute  may  be  illustrated  by  lines  from  Milton  and 
Tennyson.  In  these  examples  they  reinforce  the  choppiness 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  trochaic  movement  or  of  a 
phrasing  with  trochaic  words : 

Quips  and  Cranks,  and  wanton  Wiles, 
Nods  and  Becks,  and  wreathed  Smiles 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dhnple  sleek 

24  The  slow  rhythm  of  four  monosyllabic  feet  in  each  stanza  con- 
tributes largely  to  the  mood  of  the  poem. 

127 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Come  and  trip  it  as  ye  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe. 

And  if  I  give  thee  honor  due, 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew. 

Then  to  come  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  at  my  window  bid  good  morrow." 

(L'Alkgro.) 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

(Tennyson:    The  Brook.) 

The  examples  quoted  so  far  through  this  chapter  were 
selected  because  some  single  melodic  effect  was  emphasized 
in  each.  To  appreciate  how  tone-color  may  enrich  poetry, 
the  student  should  try  to  analyze  a  number  of  great  passages, 
to  determine  how  much  of  their  greatness  is  attributable 
to  the  intrinsic  thought,  how  much  to  the  imaginative  quality 
of  words,  and  how  much  to  each  effect  of  tone-color  employed. 

"  Contrast  in  the  parallel  poem  these  four  dignified  lines  with  long 
vowels: 

All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain, 
Flowing  with  majestic  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 

128 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

The  work  of  Keats  would  make  an  admirable  subject  for 
such  a  study,  because  most  of  the  effects  classified  in  the  above 
pages  may  be  found  in  Keats,  and  furthermore,  he  was  a 
conscious  artist  who  had  theories  of  his  own  on  tone-color.26 
Let  us  examine  the  purely  melodic  qualities  of  a  passage  from 
the  Eve  of  St.  Agnes: 

A  casement  high  and  triple-arch'd  there  was, 

All  garlanded  with  carven  imageries 

Of  fruits,  and  flowers,  and  bunches  of  knot-grass, 

And  diamonded  with  panes  of  quaint  device, 

Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes, 

As  are  the  tiger-moth's  deep  damask'd  wings; 

And  in  the  midst  'mong  thousand  heraldries, 

And  twilight  saints,  and  dim  emblazonings, 

A  shielded  scutcheon  blush'd  with  blood  of  queens  and  kings. 

Since  the  stanza  occurs  in  the  middle  of  the  poem  the  Spen- 
serian rime  scheme  is  so  clearly  in  the  reader's  ear  that  he 
recognizes  was:  grass,  and  imageries:  device:  dyes:  heraldries 
as  imperfect,  hinted  rimes,  agreeable  variations  from  the 
exact.  The  melodic  repetition  of  rimes  within  the  line  is 
heard  in  arch'd,  garlanded,  carven,  the  vowel  of  which  is 
close  to  those  in  the  end  rime  was:  grass.  Another  internal 
rime  sequence  occurs  in  panes,  quaint,  stains.  The  distinct 
alliterations  are/ruits,  /lowers;  moths,  raidst/raong;  shielded, 
scuic^eon;  blush'd,  6/ood;  and  the  repetition  of  d,  both 
initial  and  internal,  through  six  lines, — chiefly  heard  in 
diamonded,  device,  splendid,  dyes,  deep,  damask'd,  midst, 
thousand,  heraldries.  Vowel  repetitions  are  heard  in  dia- 
monded, device,  dyes,  tiger;  wings,  in,  midst;  saints, 

28  "  Mr.  Bailey  has  informed  me  that  one  of  Keats's  favorite  topics 
of  conversation  was  the  principle  of  melody  in  verse,  which  he  believed 
to  consist  in  the  adroit  management  of  open  and  close  vowels.  He  had 
a  theory  that  vowels  could  be  as  skilfully  combined  and  interchanged 
as  differing  notes  of  music  and  that  all  sense  of  monotony  was  to  be 
avoided  except  when  expressive  of  a  special  purpose." 

(Lord  Hough  ton's  Life  of  Keats.) 
129 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

emblazonings;  and  scutcheon,  blwsh'd,  blood.  The  richness 
of  the  melody  comes  from  an  interlinking  and  blending  of 
all  these  effects;  no  single  one  contributes  largely  by  itself. 
For  example,  the  fine  alexandrine, 

A  shielded  scutcheon  blush'd  with  blood  of  queens  and  kings, 

includes  three  alliterations  (sh,  b,  and  fc),  and  two  vowel 
repetitions  (ie  and  u);  and  a  pair  of  lines  in  the  middle  of  the 
stanza  is  made  up  chiefly  of  the  same  prominent  sounds 
combined  in  different  sequences: 

And  diamonded  with  panes  of  quaint  device, 
Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes. 

All  these  blendings  of  consonants  and  echoes  of  vowels  and 
rimes  supply  the  melody  which  accompanies  the  glowing 
imaginative  picture  evoked  by  the  words,  just  as  a  "tone- 
poem"  in  music  enriches  and  develops  the  emotion  produced 
in  us  by  the  story  upon  which  it  is  based. 

In  the  discussion  of  all  these  elements  of  tone-color — rime, 
assonance,  alliteration,  consonant  and  vowel  sequence — I 
have  repeatedly  questioned  whether  there  is  any  inherent 
quality  in  any  individual  speech  sound  which  can  be  asso- 
ciated with  a  specific  mood,  or  emotion,  or  idea.  It  is  true 
that  emotional  associations  may  be  evoked  by  the  tone 
qualities  of  musical  instruments;  we  speak  of  a  "yearning" 
violin,  a  "homesick"  flute,  a  "plaintive"  or  a  "solemn" 
bell,  and  an  "arrogant"  automobile  horn.  (Fancy  an 
"amorous"  trombone,  or  a  "passionate"  bass-drum!)  And 
we  speak  of  colors  in  similar  terms,  e.  g.,  "irritating"  red, 
"soothing"  green,  "sensuous"  purple,  "innocent"  light 
blue,  "simpering"  pink.  Through  the  associations  of  our 
race  experience  and  our  individual  experience  both  colors 
and  sounds  may  have  emotional  effects.  It  is  in  recognition 
of  this  common  property  of  colors  and  sounds  that  we  use 
the  term  "tone-color."  Some  people  with  a  subtle  feeling 

130 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

for  sound  quality  associate  colors  with  the  timbre  of  musical 
instruments — scarlet  for  the  trumpet,  green  for  the  reed 
instruments  (doubtless  from  the  pastoral  association),  blue 
for  the  flute — but  there  is  no  general  agreement  in  these 
correspondences,  and  attempts  to  carry  them  far  seem 
supersubtle  and  fantastic. 

Correspondences  even  so  general  as  these  cannot  rationally 
be  claimed  for  the  speech  sounds,  because  they  have  not  the 
continuity  of  effect  which  colors  or  musical  sounds  have. 
There  is  in  poetry  a  succession  of  at  least  two  or  three  different 
vowels  and  consonants  every  second;  no  single  one  is  present 
long  enough  to  create  a  mood.  And  further,  the  elements 
of  the  meaning  and  connotation  of  words  add  a  complexity 
which  makes  the  psychological  effect  of  tone-color  in  verse 
so  subtle  as  to  defy  analysis.  The  attempts  of  psychologists 
have  so  far  been  completely  futile,27  and  the  correspondences 
which  the  French  symbolists  have  imagined  seem  to  most 
people  sheer  absurdity.28  The  only  sound  conclusions  in 
the  matter  are  of  the  most  general  sort. 

27  Dr.  R.  C.  Oliver  ("Psychological  Effect  of  the  Elements  of  Speech 
in  Relation  to  Poetry."     Unpublished  Harvard  dissertation,   1914) 
has  tabulated  the  results  of  several  years'  investigation  of  the  motor, 
visual,  and  auditory  effects  of  the  different  sound  qualities  on  a  number 
of  readers.    He  attempted  to  record  the  effect  on  these  subjects  of  read- 
ing such  combinations  of  sounds  as  this,  for  example,  which  he  finds 
typical  of  Keats: 

Ni  rul  su  veed  ri  nest  it  al  ith  reen. 

The  results  of  this  long  and  patient  study  are,  as  Dr.  Gilver  admits, 
few,  if  any — except  that  the  "laws  of  introspective  consciousness  are 
by  no  means  sun  clear!" 

28  Arthur  Rimbeau,  for  example,  has  a  famous  sonnet  in  which  he 
attributes  a  color  to  each  of  the  vowels.     Ren6  Ghil  (Le  Traite  du 
Verb,  Paris,  1886)  has  a  very  obscure  statement  of  the  principles  of  the 
symbolists.     An  abstract  of  his  color  system  is  given  in  American 
Journal  of  Psychology,  5:504: 

"F,  1,  and  s  correspond  to  the  long  primitive  flutes. 
L,  r,  s,  z  correspond  to  the  horn,  bassoon,  hautboy: 
O,  o,  io,  oi  give  the  reds — Ou,  ou,  iou,  oui,  go  from  the  black  to 
the  russet, 

131 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Sequences  of  vowels  and  consonants  which  are  easy  to 
produce  please  the  ear;  those  which  are  difficult  do  not. 
Tone-color  may  effectively  heighten  style  by  a  choice  of 
either  vocalic  or  rough  sequences,  whichever  may  be  appro- 
priate to  the  thought.  Repetitions  of  a  sound  (rime,  assonance, 
alliteration)  are  agreeable  unless  they  occur  too  often  or 
too  close  together.  Repetition  tends  to  make  more  prominent 
the  words  linked  together  by  it,  and  makes  more  vivid  our 
realization  of  their  meaning  or  their  imaginative  power. 
This  same  enhancing  vividness  in  words  may  occasionally 
be  produced  by  imitative  sound  effects  (onomatopoeia). 

In  every  consideration  of  poetic  tone-color  one  must  not 
forget  that  the  meaning  and  the  connotation  of  the  words 
is  fundamental;  their  sound  only  contributory.  Might  not 
one  who  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  words  iron-ware, 
hemorrhage,  or  pneumonia,  think — judging  them  purely 
from  their  sound — that  they  would  make  fine  words  for  a 
lyric?  I  have  heard  of  a  negress — evidently  with  a  fine  ear 
for  tone-color — who  called  her  child  Malaria,  because  she 
thought  it  a  beautiful  name!  And  why  are  not  chloral, 
cantharides,  and  calomel  quite  as  melodious  as  floral,  Hes- 
perides  and  Philomel?  The  meaning  is  of  primary  importance 
even  with  words  which  we  think  imitative  or  suggestive. 
For  example,  there  are  two  very  different  meanings  to  each 
of  the  following  words:  knoll,  tattoo,  loom,  lumber,  hack,  but 
it  is  only  when  they  are  used  in  one  of  their  senses  that  we 
recognize  their  sound  as  suggestive. 

Sometimes  the  unusualness  of  a  word  may  make  us  feel 
that  its  mere  sound  is  significant,  though,  in  reality  it  may 
not  be,  e.  g.,  cymar,  spilth,  escalade.  Or  strangeness  of 
spelling  may  deceive  us  in  the  same  way,  e.  g.,  myrrh  (cf. 
the  more  commonplace  bur,  fur}.  Again,  certain  of  the  less 

The  a,  o,  and  iu  are  to  be  used  to  express  magnitude,  fullness  and 
amplitude.  E  and  i  for  the  tiny,  the  sharp,  the  sorrowful  and 
mourning.  O,  r,  a,  and  x  for  the  great  passion,  for  impetuosity, 
roughness,  etc." 

132 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

usual  polysyllabic  words  may  seem  to  have  an  importance 
and  dignity  of  sound,  e.  g.,  multitudinous,  incarnadine,  laby- 
rinthine, tabernacle,  ambrosial,  amarant,  impurpurate,  roseal, 
dulcitude.  How  much  of  the  effectiveness  of  such  words 
is  due  to  sound  and  how  much  to  connotation  is  impossible 
to  determine. 

The  use  of  proper  names  in  poetry  presents  similar  ques- 
tions of  the  relation  of  sound  and  association.  The  Miltonic 
use  is  probably  the  most  notable.  Consider  this  passage: 

And  all  who  since,  baptized  or  infidel, 
Jousted  in  Aspramont,  or  Montalban, 
Damasco,  or  Marocco,  or  Trebisond, 
Or  whom  Biserta  sent  from  Afric  shore 
When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Fontarabbia. 

(Paradise  Lost,  I.) 

Part  of  the  fine  effect  of  the  passage  comes  from  the  romantic 
halo  around  the  well-known  names  and  the  kindling  of  vague 
imaginings  by  those  that  are  strange.  But  inextricably 
blended  with  these  connotations  are  the  sheer  sound  effects 
of  consonant  sequences  and  vowel  echoes.  Observe  the 
melodic  repetitions  of  m,  mont,  as,  and  co  in  the  sequence  of 
names,  Aspramont,  M onZalban,  Damasco,  Marocco,  Trebisond, 
Fonfarabbia,  and  also  the  alliterations  in  Treofsond,  Biserta, 
sent;  shore,  CAarlemain;  /ell,  Fontarabbia. 

For  names  with  which  we  have  no  associations,  like  Poe's 
inventions,  Weir  and  Ulalume,  we  imagine  a  connotation 
from  their  sound  and  their  verse  context.  The  "misty  mid- 
region  of  Weir"  suggests  the  word  weird,  and  the  "vault  of 
thy  lost  Ulalume"  vaguely  suggests  the  word  gloom.29  But 
if  this  last  mentioned  name  occurred  in  the  context,  "Mid 
valleys  of  blossoms  roamed  fair  Ulalume,"  might  it  not  just 
as  well  borrow  some  of  the  connotation  of  bloom?  Blake's 
names,  Har,  Thel,  and  Luvah,  have  an  oriental  strangeness 

29  Poe  probably  coined  it  from  ululate. 

133 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

of  sound  which  fits  the  vague  mystic  poems  in  which  they 
occur. 

Since  the  sheer  sound  of  words  or  proper  names  cannot 
produce  an  effect  which  will  overcome  the  meaning  ortheimagi- 
native  association,  the  poet  must  beware  of  allowing  his  fond- 
ness for  beautiful  sounds  to  be  his  chief  guide.  The  sacrifice 
of  sense  for  melody  leads  to  affectation  and  pinchbeck  orna- 
ment. The  poet  who  inclines  to  the  principle,  "Give  heed  to 
the  sound  and  the  sense  will  take  care  of  itself,"  should  study 
the  joyous  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  his  theory — Edward 
Lear's  Jumblies: 

And  all  night  long  they  saiFd  away; 
And  when  the  sun  went  down, 
They  whistled  and  warbled  a  moony  song 
To  the  echoing  sound  of  a  coppery  gong, 
In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown, 

X 

"0  Timbaloo!    how  happy  we  are 

When  we  live  in  a  sieve  and  a  crockery  jar! 

And  all  night  long,  in  the  moonlight  pale, 

We  sail  away  with  a  pea-green  sail 

In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown."80 

Great  poems  never  depend  upon  sheer  melody,  but  great 
poets  often  choose  an  epithet  or  even  a  line  with  melody  as 
a  primary  motive.  Tennyson's 

Idalian  Aphrodite  beautiful, 

(Oenone.) 

was  first  written, 

Idalian  Aphrodite  ocean-born, 

a  change  to  a  weaker  adjective  purely  for  the  melody.    The 
choice  of  the  unusual  epithet  in  the  line  from  Enoch  Arden, 

The  hollower-bellowing  ocean,  and  again, 

10  The  vowel  and  consonant  sequences  and  echoes  are  as  finely  blended 
and  distributed  as  those  of  Keats! 

134 


MELODY  OR  TONE-COLOR 

was  evidently  for  onomatopoeia.31  Melody  carried  so  far 
we  may  admire,  but  the  extravagance  of  Swinburne's 

So  glowed  their  aweless  amorous  plenilune, 

in  the  description  of  Iseult's  eyes — is  hard  to  accept.  A 
sheer  love  of  melody  may  lead  even  so  great  an  artist  as 
Keats  into  an  occasional  ambiguity  of  meaning.  Critics 
have  been  troubled  over  his  description  of  Madelein  asleep, 

Blissfully  haven'd  both  from  joy  and  pain; 
Clasp'd  like  a  missal  where  swart  Paynims  pray; 
Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  ram, 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again. 

(Eve  of  St.  Agnes.) 

Wasn't  the  poet  perhaps  thinking  less  of  the  puzzling  con- 
nection between  missals  and  Paynims,  than  the  echo  of  sounds 
in  Blissfully,  missal,  and  pain,  clasp'd,  Paynims,  pray, 
rain?  Keats  more  usually  combines  clarity  of  meaning, 
aptness  of  figure,  and  richness  of  melody  without  a  sacrifice 
of  one  at  the  expense  of  the  others.  And  this  should  always 
be  the  ideal  aim  of  the  poet. 

Melody  in  poetry  is  neither  an  end  in  itself  nor  a  meaning- 
less embellishment,  but  an  important  aid  to  intensify  the 
aesthetic  emotion  evoked  by  the  rhythm  and  the  ideas,  images, 
and  suggestions  of  the  words. 

31  Wordsworth  has  an  interesting  remark,  in  the  preface  to  his  edition 
of  1815,  on  the  word  broods,  in  the  line, 

Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  Stock-dove  broods. 

"The  stock-dove  is  said  to  coo,  a  sound  well  imitating  the  note  of  the 
bird;  but,  by  the  intervention  of  the  metaphor  broods,  the  affections 
are  called  in  by  the  imagination  to  assist  in  marking  the  manner  in  which 
the  bird  reiterates  and  prolongs  her  soft  note,  as  if  herself  delighting 
to  listen  to  it,  and  participating  of  a  still  and  quiet  satisfaction,  like 
that  which  may  be  supposed  inseparable  from  the  continuous  process 
of  incubation." 

135 


PART  II 
TECHNIQUE  OF  SPECIAL  VERSE  FORMS 


CHAPTER  IX 

STANZA  FORMS 

Verse,  like  prose,  has  a  paragraph  structure.  In  the  con- 
tinuous forms  like  couplets  or  blank  verse,  there  is  no  way 
of  making  this  stand  out.  Verse  written  in  stanzas,  however, 
can  show  this  paragraph  structure.  A  stanza  is  any  definite 
arrangement  of  a  limited  number  of  lines  usually  bound  to- 
gether by  a  rime  scheme.  Ordinarily,  verse  arranged  in 
stanzas  is  so  phrased  that  there  is  some  sort  of  grammatical 
pause  at  the  end  of  each  line  so  that  the  line  unit  may  be 
clear  to  the  listener.  As  the  rime,  however,  may  be  relied 
upon  to  define  the  line-structure,  such  phrasing  is  not  at  all 
a  necessity.  Some  poets,  in  fact,  with  the  simpler  stanza 
forms,  try  particularly  to  make  the  sense  run  beyond  the  line. 
But  it  is  seldom  we  find  that  the  sense  period  does  not  coin- 
cide with  the  stanza,  i.  e.,  the  stanza  usually  embodies  a  com- 
plete sentence  or  paragraph. 

Ideally,  one  may  say  that  the  successive  stanzas  of  a  short 
poem  should  have  a  cumulative  effect,  with  the  climax  in 
the  last  stanza.  A  fine  example  is  George  Herbert's  Virtue: 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright! 

The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky — 
The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night; 

For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  rose,  whose  hue  angry  and  brave 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 

Thy  root  is  ever  in  its  grave, 
And  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  where  sweets  compacted  lie, 
139 


My  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and'virtuous  soul, 

Like  season'd  timber,  never  gives; 

But  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

Such  perfection  of  form  is  unusual,  and,  of  course,  with 
many  themes  this  cumulative  effect  would  be  out  of  place, 
but  wherever  possible,  the  poet  should  strive  for  it. 

Stanzas  are  practically  always  built  on  a  framework  of 
rime  pattern.  There  are  very  few  successful  poems  in  English 
in  unrimed  stanzaic  form.  Tennyson's  Tears,  Idle  Tears 
has  been  quoted  before1  as  an  example.  Notice  that  in  this 
poem  the  sense  does  not  run  over  the  line,  as  in  the  best 
blank  verse,  and  that  the  end  of  the  fifth  line  of  each  of  the 
four  stanzas  is  the  refrain,  "The  days  that  are  no  more." 
This  grammatical  pause  at  the  end  of  the  line  and  the  use  of 
the  refrain  are  also  characteristic  of  Longfellow's  Bells  of 
Lynn  and  Lamb's  Old  Familiar  Faces.  Blake's  To  Spring 
has  neither  of  these  aids  to  keep  the  stanza  form  clear: 

0  thou  with  dewy  locks,  who  lookest  down 
Through  the  clear  windows  of  the  morning,  turn 
Thine  angel  eyes  upon  our  western  isle, 
Which  in  full  choir  hails  thy  approach,  0  Spring! 

The  hills  tell  one  another,  and  the  listening 
Valleys  hear;  all  our  longing  eyes  are  turn'd 
Up  to  thy  bright  pavilions:    issue  forth 
And  let  thy  holy  feet  visit  our  clime! 

The  poem  from  which  this  is  quoted  is  really  sixteen  lines 
of  blank  verse  phrased  in  four-line  paragraphs.  The  stanzas 
are  purely  a  matter  of  printing.  The  ear  likewise  would  find 
the  unrimed  stanza  form  of  Collins's  greatly  admired  Ode  to 
Evening,  or,  Keble's  Burial  of  the  Dead,  difficult  to  grasp. 

1  See  above,  p.  82. 

140 


STANZA  FORMS 

Southey's  three  hundred  page  poem,  Thaldba,  the  Destroyer, 
is  a  most  ambitious  attempt  at  unrimed  stanzas.  The 
opening  of  it  is  typical: 

How  beautiful  is  night! 
A  dewy  freshness  fills  the  silent  air; 
No  mist  obscures,  nor  cloud,  no  speech,  nor  stain 

Breaks  the  serene  of  heaven: 
In  full-orbed  glory  yonder  morn  divine 
Rolls  through  the  dark  blue  depths. 

Beneath  her  steady  ray 
The  desert  circle  spreads, 
Like  the  round  ocean,  girded  with  the  sky. 
How  beautiful  is  night! 

The  poet  here  has  tried  to  keep  the  lines  distinct  by  the 
phrasing,  but  the  stanza  is  purely  arranged  for  the  eye,  not 
the  ear,  for  the  length  of  the  stanzas  and  length  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  lines  composing  them  are  constantly  changing 
throughout  the  poem.  The  result,  in  spite  of  the  elaborate 
indentations  of  the  printer,  is  free  verse  like  Matthew 
Arnold's.  It  should  be  added  that  it  is  excellent  verse, 
but  without  the  stanzaic  organization  that  the  poet  probably 
wished. 

The  important  thing  in  writing  unrimed  stanzas,  beside 
keeping  the  line  and  stanza  pattern  regular  and  distinct, 
is  not  leading  the  reader  to  expect  a  rime  which  does  not 
come.  The  jolt  with  which  one  arrives  at  the  end  of  the 
fourth  line  of  Southey's  early  experiment,  the  Spanish 
Armada,  is  most  painful: 

Clear  shone  the  moon,  the  gale  was  fair, 
When  from  Corunna's  crowded  port, 
With  many  a  cheerful  shout  and  loud  acclaim, 
The  huge  Armada,  passed. 

The  annoyance  is  caused  by  the  ballad  swing  that  starts  the 
recognized  stanza  form  and  makes  us  expect  the  rune  that  is 
always  associated  with  it. 

141 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

All  these  stanzas  without  rune  are  comparatively  rare 
in  English  verse,  and,  like  the  imitations  of  classical  rhythms, 
must  be  regarded  chiefly  as  experiments.  Stanzas  are  prac- 
tically always  rimed. 

The  form  of  a  stanza  is  a  fixed,  but  purely  arbitrary 
matter,  quite  at  the  option  of  the  poet.  Almost  every  combi- 
nation of  length  of  line  and  variety  of  rime-scheme  seems  to 
have  been  tried  in  the  course  of  English  poetry.  Certain 
forms,  however,  have  been  given  preference  over  others  by 
the  poets;  and  some  stanzas  by  association  with  great  mas- 
terpieces, have  come  to  have  a  fitness  for  certain  kinds  of 
subject  matter.  Fashion  is  as  arbitrary  in  poetic  forms  as 
everywhere  else,  and  breaches  of  it,  however  rational,  are 
likely  to  be  met  with  disapproval.  The  ballad  stanza  suggests 
simple  narrative;  the  heroic  quatrain  a  reflective  mood; 
the  sonnet,  "a  moment's  monument."  There  is  no  reason 
for  these  correspondences  of  form  and  subject  except  that 
the  usage  of  poets  has  made  us  expect  them.  Mr.  John 
Masefield's  brutally  realistic  narratives  written  in  "rime 
royal" — the  stanza  form  associated  with  the  Scottish  James 
I.  and  Chaucerian  romance — are  like  an  over-dressed  kitchen 
maid, 

For  different  styles  with  different  subjects  sort, 
As  several  garbs  with  country,  town,  and  court. 

There  are  not  many  poetic  forms  so  consistently  devoted 
to  one  type  of  thought  that  one  may  venture  to  be  dogmatic 
about  them.  In  general,  the  simpler  stanzas  are  best  for 
simple  narrations  or  simple  ideas,  and  the  more  intricate 
forms  had  better  be  reserved  for  elaborate  story-telling, 
or  for  subtler  or  more  complex  poetic  thought.  In  the  fol- 
lowing pages,  the  forms  in  most  frequent  use  are  exemplified; 
the  list,  by  no  means  pretends  to  be  exhaustive. 

Two  line  stanzas  are  used  in  a  very  few  poems: 

Up  and  away  through  the  drifting  rain! 
Let  us  ride  to  the  little  tower  again, 
142 


STANZA  FORMS 

Up  and  away  from  the  council  board! 
Do  on  the  hauberk,  gird  on  the  sword. 

The  king  is  blind  with  gnashing  his  teeth! 
Change  gilded  scabbard  to  leather  sheath. 

(Wm.  Morris:    Little  Tower.) 

Rossetti's  White  Ship  and  Kipling's  Bo  Da  Thone  are  other 
ballads  in  this  form.  There  is  no  difference,  except  in  the 
printing,  between  this  and  the  continuous  couplet.2  Tenny- 
son's Higher  Pantheism  is  written  in  two  line  stanzas  of 
trochaic-dactylic  hexameters,  and  his  Locksley  Hall  in  two 
line  stanzas  of  trochaic  octameter  lines.  In  the  usual  iambic 
movement  these  long  lines  rimed  in  pairs  would  be  exactly 
the  same  as  quatrains  of  short  lines.3 

Tercets,  three  line  stanzas  riming  a  a  a,  were  in  considerable 
favor  in  the  seventeenth  century.  They  were  used  with 
great  charm  by  Fletcher,  Herrick,  and  Rochester.  The  fol- 
lowing, in  trochaic  movement,  are  supposed  to  be  by  Shake- 
speare: 

Beauty,  truth,  and  rarity, 
Grace  in  all  simplicity, 
Here  enclosed  in  cinders  lie. 


Truth  may  seem,  but  cannot  be; 
Beauty  brag,  but  'tis  not  she; 
Truth  and  beauty  buried  be. 

To  this  urn  let  those  repair 
That  are  either  true  or  fair; 
For  these  dead  birds  sigh  a  prayer. 

(Threnos  in  Phoenix  and  the  Turtle.) 

In  the  nineteenth  century,  Lamb  wrote  his  In  My  Own 
Album  in  tercets,  and  Tennyson  used  them  for  his  Two 

2  See  Chapter  X.  ' 

3  For  a  discussion  of  Locksley  Hall  see  Chapter  XVI. 

143 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Voices  and  the  fragment,  the  Eagle: 

He  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands; 
Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls;! 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls, 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls. 

Other  examples  in  tetrameter  are  Lander's  Children 
Playing  in  a  Churchyard  and  Longfellow's  Maidenhood. 

Kipling's  Mulholland's  Contract  is  an  example  in  lines 
of  seven  feet,  occasionally  varied  by  lines  of  six: 

I  had  been  singin'  to  them  to  keep  'em  quiet 

there, 
For  the  lower  deck  is  the  dangerousest,  requirin' 

constant  care, 
An'  give  to  me,  as  the  strongest  man,  though 

used  to  drink  and  swear. 

The  form  has  also  been  used  with  a  dactylic  movement: 

Maiden  most  beautiful,  mother  most  wonderful, 

lady  of  lands, 
Queen  and  republican,  crowned  of  the  centuries 

whose  years  are  thy  sands, 

See  for  thy  sake  what  we  bring  to  thee,  here  in  our  hands. 
(Swinburne:    Song  of  the  Standard.) 

Terza  rima  is  a  continuous  form  composed  of  pentameter 
tercets,  each  linked  to  the  preceding  tercet  by  the  rime 
scheme  (aba,  bcb,  cdc,  ded,  .  .  .  etc.).  The  final  stanza 
of  the  poem  is  a  quatrain,  linked  to  the  preceding  tercet  by 
the  rime  scheme  (  .  .  .  ded,  efe,  fgfg).  Terza  rima  is  the 
form  of  Dante's  Divina  Commedia;  it  has  not  been  used  to 
any  great  extent  in  English.  It  was  introduced  by  Wyatt 
and  used  in  one  or  two  poems  by  Sidney,  Daniel,  Drummond, 
and  Milton.  In  the  nineteenth  century  it  was  used  by  Byron 

144 


STANZA  FORMS 

for  his  Prophecy  of  Dante  and  by  William  Morris  for  his 
Guinevere.  Alfred  Noyes'  Progress  of  Love  also  is  in  this 
form.  Terza  rima  is  employed  for  long  poems — usually 
narratives — of  a  serious  tone. 

To  handle  terza  rima  well  requires  skill  in  phrasing.  The 
sense  should  run  over  the  line  a  great  deal,  and  the  full  stops 
should  rarely  occur  at  the  end  of  the  first  line  of  a  group, 
for  this  phrasing  gives  the  impression  of  a  quatrain.  The 
following  example  of  terza  rima,  is  from  Byron's  Prophecy  of 
Dante: 

Many  are  poets  who  have  never  penned 

Their  inspiration,  and  perchance  the  best; 

They  felt,  and  loved,  and  died,  but  would  not  lend 

Their  thoughts  to  meaner  beings;  they  compressed 
The  God  within  them,  and  rejoined  the  stars, 
Unlaurelled  upon  earth,  but  far  more  blessed 

Than  thpse  who  are  degraded  by  the  jars 

Of  Passion,  and  their  frailties  linked  to  fame, 
Conquerors  of  high  renoun,  but  full  of  scars. 

Shelley  invented  a  modification  of  terza  rima  for  his  Ode 
to  the  West  Wind.  This  poem  is  grouped  in  four  parts,  each 
composed  of  four  tercets  of  terza  rima  concluded  by  a 
couplet. 

The  quatrain  is  in  most  frequent  use  of  any  stanza  form. 
It  may  be  composed  of  lines  in  any  meter,  and  of  many 
combinations  of  meters.  It  may  be  rimed  abab,  xaya,  abba, 
aabb,  aaba.  The  following  pages  give  examples  of  many  of 
its  possible  types. 

A  few  random  examples  in  the  shorter  meters  are: 

Throw  away  thy  rod 

Throw  away  thy  wrath; 
0  my  God, 
Take  the  gentle  path. 

(George  Herbert:    Discipline.) 
145 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Welcome,  maids  of  honor, 

You  do  bring 

In  the  spring 
And  wait  upon  her. 

(Herrick:    To  Viokts.) 

The  Day  in  his  hotness, 
The  strife  with  the  palm; 
The  Night  in  her  silence, 
The  Stars  in  their  calm. 

(Arnold:    Song  of  Collides.) 

Love  laid  his  sleepless  head 
On  a  thorny  rose  bed; 
And  his  eyes  with  tears  are  red, 
And  pale  his  lips  as  the  dead. 
(Swinburne:    Love  Laid ,  His  Sleepless  Head.) 

I  dare  not  ask  a  kiss, 

I  dare  not  beg  a  smile, 
Lest  having  that,  or  this, 

I  might  grow  proud  the  while. 

(Herrick:    To  Ekctra.) 

The  short  meter  of  the  Church  Hymnal  is  the  two  line 
"poulter's  measure,"  an  example  of  which  was  quoted  on 
page  31,  broken  up  into  four  lines.  The  first,  second,  and 
fourth  are  trimeter,  and  the  third  is  tetrameter.  They  are 
rimed  xaya,  or  abab: 

The  King  Himself  comes  near 

And  feasts  his  saints  to-day; 
Here  may  we  seek  and  see  Him  here, 

And  love,  and  praise  and  pray. 

(Isaac  Watts.) 

Tennyson  has  used  this  stanza  with  trochaic  lines: 

Read  my  little  fable: 

He  that  runs  may  read. 
Most  can  raise  the  flowers  now, 
For  all  have  got  the  seed. 

(Tennyson:    Flower.) 
146 


STANZA  FORMS 

Trimeter  combined  with  a  third  line  of  pentameter  also 
occurs: 

Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 

When  I  put  out  to  sea. 

(Tennyson:    Crossing  the  Bar.) 

The  most  frequently  used  of  all  quatrains  is  the  common 
meter  of  the  Hymnal.  This  is  tetrameter  alternating  with 
trimeter: 

0  Lord,  be  with  us  when  we  sail 

Upon  the  lonely  deep, 
Our  guard  when  on  the  silent  deck 

The  nightly  watch  we  keep. 

(E.  A.  Dayman.) 

This  form,  that  has  its  origin  among  the  people,  has 
been  used  for  countless  hymns,  ballads,  and  simple  songs. 
Two  other  examples  of  it  may  be  quoted: 

There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  well, 

And  a  wealthy  wife  was  she; 
And  had  three  stout  and  stalwart  sons, 

And  sent  them  o'er  the  sea. 

(Wife  of  Usher's  Well.) 

Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may, 

Old  time  is  still  a-dying: 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 

To-morrow  will  be  dying. 

(Herrick:    To  the  Virgins.) 

The  long  meter  of  the  Hymnal,  four  tetrameter  lines 
rimed  xaya,  or  abab,  has  also  been  much  used  for  simple 
themes: 

Annan  water's  wading  deep, 
And  my  love  Annie's  wondrous  bonny; 
147 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  I  am  laith  she  suld  weet  her  feet, 
Because  I  love  her  best  of  ony. 

(Annan  Water.) 

He  rose  at  dawn  and,  fired  with  hope, 

Shot  o'er  the  seething  harbor-bar, 
And  reach'd  the  ship  and  caught  the  rope, 

And  whistled  to  the  morning  star. 

(Tennyson:  Sailor  Boy.) 

It  has  been  used  with  a  trochaic  rhythm  occasionally  in  the 
Hymnal: 

Hymns  of  praise  then  let  us  sing 
Unto  Christ,  our  heavenly  King, 
Who  endured  the  cross  and  grave, 
Sinners  to  redeem  and  save. 

(From  Lathi.) 

When  the  tetrameter  quatrain  is  rimed  abba  it  is  known 
as  the  In  Memoriam  stanza,  from  Tennyson's  use  of  it  in 
his  great  elegy,  e.  g. 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 
Whom  we  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith  and  faith  alone  embrace, 

Believing  when  we  cannot  prove. 

(Tennyson:    In  Memoriam.) 

It  had  been  used  before  by  Ben  Jonson,  in  an  elegy,  and  by 
Rossetti  in  My  Sister's  Sleep,  but  the  fame  of  Tennyson's 
poem  has  caused  the  form  to  be  associated  with  his  name. 
Professor  Corson's4  comment  admirably  describes  the 
stanza:  "By  the  rime-scheme  of  the  quatrain,  the  terminal 
rime-emphasis  of  the  stanza  is  reduced,  the  second  and  third 
verses  being  the  most  closely  braced  by  the  rime.  The 
stanza  is  thus  admirably  adapted  to  that  sweet  continuity 
of  flow,  free  from  abrupt  checks,  demanded  by  the  spiritual- 

4  A  Primer  of  English  Verse,  pp.  70  ff. 

148 


STANZA  FORMS 

ized  sorrow  which  it  bears  along.  Alternate  rime  would 
have  wrought  an  entire  change  in  the  tone  of  the  poem.  To 
be  assured  of  this  one  should  read,  aloud,  of  course,  all  the 
stanzas  whose  first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth,  verses 
admit  of  being  transposed  without  affecting  the  sense.  By 
such  transposition,  the  rimes  are  made  alternate,  and  the 
concluding  rimes  more  emphatic."  Two  stanzas  which  admit 
of  this  change  are, 

Old  yew,  which  graspest  at  the  stones 

That  name  the  underlying  dead, 

Thy  fibers  net  the  dreamless  head, 
Thy  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  bones. 

(n,  1.) 

I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall; 

I  feel  it  when  I  sorrow  most, 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

(xxvii,  4.) 

As  illustrations  of  the  adaptability  of  the  stanza,  because 
of  the  reduction  of  terminal  emphasis,  to  an  uninterrupted 
flow  of  thought  and  feeling,  Professor  Corson  quotes  sections 
xu  and  LXXXVI. 

Other  ways  of  riming  the  tetrameter  quatrain  are  aaxa: 

0  love,  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine, 
In  lands  of  palm  and  southern  pine; 

In  lands  of  palm,  of  orange  blossom, 
Of  olive,  aloe,  and  maize  and  vine, 

(Tennyson:    Daisy.) 


and  aabb: 


If  Rosamond  that  was  so  fair, 
Had  cause  her  sorrows  to  declare, 
Then  let  Jane  Shore  with  sorrow  sing, 
That  was  beloved  of  a  king. 

(Battad  of  Jane  SJwre.) 
149 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

This  form  has  not  much  individuality,  for  it  gives  the  effect 
of  couplets.  The  impression  of  quatrains  can  only  be  given 
by  making  the  phrasing  bring  out  the  four  line  unit. 

Tetrameter  Quatrains  in  rhythms  other  than  iambic  are: 
lambic-Anapestic,  aabb: 

Bishop  Bruno  awoke  in  the  dead  midnight, 
And  he  heard  his  heart  beat  loud  with  affright; 
He  dreamt  he  had  rung  the  palace  bell, 
And  the  sound  that  it  gave  was  his  passing  knell. 

(Southey:    Bishop  Bruno.) 

lambic-Anapestic  aaaa: 

In  the  hour  of  death  after  this  life's  whim, 
When  the  heart  beats  low,  and  the  eyes  grow  dim, 

And  pain  has  exhausted  every  limb — 
The  lover  of  the  Lord  shall  trust  in  Him. 
(Dominus  lUuminatio  Mea  in  Oxford  Book  of  Verse.) 

Dactylic,  aabb: 

Warriors  and  chiefs!  should  the  shaft  or  the  sword 
Pierce  me  in  leading  the  host  of  the  Lord, 
Heed  not  the  corse,  though  a  king's,  in  your  path; 
Bury  your  steel  in  the  bosoms  of  Gath! 

(Byron:  Song  of  Saul.) 

Tetrameters  may  be  combined  with  dimeters  and  trimeters 
into  quatrains  thus: 

0  what  can  ail  thee,  knight  at  arms, 

Alone  and  palely  loitering? 
The  sedge  has  withered  from  the  lake, 

And  no  birds  sing. 

(Keats:    La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merci.) 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear, 
Nor  in  the  shadow  sing 
His  numbers  languishing. 
(A.  Marvell:    Horatian  Ode  upon  Cromwell.) 
150 


The  heroic  quatrain,  an  invention  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, is  made  up  of  four  pentameters  rimed  abab.  The  sonor- 
ous and  stately  effect  of  this  stanza  is  associated  with  Gray's 
famous  Elegy: 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour; 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

The  form  has  been  found  suitable  only  for  serious  and 
reflective  poems.  Because  of  the  dignity  of  the  stanza, 
rarely  are  the  first  and  third  lines  unrimed,  and  feminine 
rimes  are  seldom  introduced. 

Pentameter  quatrains  are  not  often  rimed  aabb,  or  abba. 
Examples,  however,  can  be  found: 

Fresh  from  the  dewy  hill,  the  merry  year 
Smiles  on  my  head  and  mounts  his  flaming  car; 
Round  my  young  brows  the^laurel  wreathes  a  shade, 
And  rising  glories  beam  around  my  head. 

(Blake:    Song.) 

Faces  of  men  that  once,  though  long  ago, 
Saw  the  faint  light  of  hope,  though  far  away — 
Hope  that,  at  end  of  some  tremendous  day, 

They  yet  might  reach  some  life'where  tears  could  flow. 

(Alfred  Noyes:    An  East-end  Coffee  Statt.) 

The  first  of  these  is  evidently  not  popular  because,  like  the 
tetrameter  quatrain  rimed  similarly,  it  cannot  be  distin- 
guished from  couplets.  As  the  latter  scheme,  which,  by  the 
way,  is  identical  with  the  opening  of  a  sonnet,  has  not  been 
employed  for  any  great  poem,  it  lacks  the  sanction  of  best 
usage. 

The  only  other  way  of  riming  the  pentameter  quatrain 
that  has  been  used  is  the  scheme  aaxa,  of  the  "Omar  stanza": 

And  those  who  husbanded  the  Golden  grain 
And  those  who  flung  it  to  the  winds  like  Rain 
151 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Alike  to  no  such  aureate  Earth  are  turn'd 
As,  buried  once,  Men  want  dug  up  again. 

(Fitzgerald:    Rvbaiyat.) 

This  singularly  effective  form  has  not  been  used  for  any  other 
masterpiece,  except  Swinburne's  Laus  Veneris: 

Asleep  or  waking  is  it?  for  her  neck, 
Kissed  over  close,  wears  yet  a  purple  speck 

Wherein  the  pained  blood  falters  and  goes  out; 
Soft,  and  stung  softly — fairer  for  a  fleck. 

Forms  like  the  "Omar  stanza"  and  the  "In  Memoriam 
stanza,"  that  are  definitely  associated  with  one  great  poem, 
can  hardly  be  used  yet  without  the  suggestion  of  imitation. 
Forms  that  are  old  enough  to  be  common  property  are  much 
safer  for  the  young  poet. 

An  interesting,  but  rare,  pentameter  quatrain  is  one  in 
anapestic  rhythm,  rimed  0606.  This  has  a  rather  fine  sweep 
and  dignity: 

The  lads  in  their  hundreds  to  Ludlow  come  in  for  the  fair, 
There's  men  from  the  barn  and  the  forge  and  the  mill  and  the 

fold, 

The  lads  for  the  girls  and  the  lads  for  the  liquor  are  there, 
And  there  with  the  rest  are  the  lads  that  will  never  be  old. 
(A.  E.  Housman:    Shropshire  Lad,  XXIII.) 

Pentameter  lines  are  not  effectively  used  in  combination 
with  tetrameter  in  quatrains,  but  pentameters  and  trimeters 
are  often  combined: 

We  should  steal  in  once  more, 
Under  the  cloudy  lilac  at  the  gate, 
Up  the  walled  garden,  then  with  hearts  elate, 

Forget  the  stars  and  close  the  cottage  door. 

(Alfred  Noyes:    Earth-Bound.) 

His  gentle  soul,  his  genius,  these  are  thine; 
For  these  dost  thou  repine? 
152 


STANZA  FORMS 

He  may  have  left  the  lonely  walks  of  men; 
Left  them  he  has,  what  then? 

(Landor:     To  the  Sister  of  Elia.) 

Quatrains  are  also  used  in  the  longer  meters,  hexameter 
and  heptameter.  The  following  are  examples: 

Hexameter,  iambic-anapestic,  aabb: 

When  earth's  last  picture  is  painted,  and  the  tubes  are  twisted  and 

dried, 

When  the  oldest  colors  have  faded,  and  the  youngest  critic  has  died 
We  shall  rest,  and,  faith,  we  shall  need  it — lie  down  for  an  seon 

or  two, 

Till  the  Master  of  all  Good  Workmen  shall  set  us  to  work  anew! 
(Kipling:    L1 Envoi  to  Seven  Seas.) 

Heptameter,  iambic,  aabb: 

There's  not  a  joy  the  world  can  give  like  that  it  takes  away, 
When  the  glow  of  early  thought  declines  in  feeling's  dull  decay; 
'Tis  not  on  youth's  smooth  cheek  the  blush  alone,  which  fades 

so  fast, 

But  the  tender  bloom  of  heart  is  gone,  ere  youth  itself  is  past. 

(Byron:    Stanzas  for  Music.) 

The  Liner  she's  a  lady,  an'  she  never  looks  nor  'eeds — 
The  Man  o'  War's  'er  'usband,  an'  'e  gives  'er  all  she  needs; 
But,  oh,  the  little  cargo-boats,  that  sail  the  wet  seas  roun', 
They're  just  the  same  as  you  an'  me  a-plyin'  up  an'  down! 

(Kipling:    Liner  She's  a  Lady.) 

Heptameter,  trochaic,  aabb: 

All  along  the  purple  creek,  lit  with  silver  foam, 
Silent,  silent  voices,  cry  no  more  of  home! 
Soft  beyond  the  cherry-trees,  o'er  the  dun  lagoon, 
Dawns  the  crimson  lantern  of  the  large  low  moon. 

(Alfred  Noyes:    Haunted  in  Old  Japan.) 

When  quatrains  are  written  in  meters  longer  than  pen- 
tameter, they  have  usually  been  rimed  0066,  as  in  the  last 
three  specimens,  so  that  the  end  of  each  line  may  be  dis- 

153 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

tinctly  felt.  Since  Swinburne  and  Kipling,  however,  have 
accustomed  our  ears  to  these  longer  meters,  we  can  feel 
lines  of  six  or  seven  feet  as  metrical  units.  Alfred  Noyes, 
taking  this  for  granted,  has  a  fondness  for  quatrains  of 
hexameters  rimed  alternately  (0606).  He' has  written  one 
example  of  octameters  (in  trochaic-anapestic  movement) 
rimed  in  this  way: 

Down  to  the  valley  she  came,  for  far  and  far  below  in  the  dreaming 

meadows 
Pleaded  ever  the  voice  of  voices,  calling  his  love  by  her  golden 

name; 
So  she  arose  from  her  home  in  the  hills,  and  down  through  the 

blossoms  that  danced  with  their  shadows, 
Out  of  the  blue  of  the  dreaming  distance,  down  to  the  heart  of 
her  lover  she  came. 

(Orpheus  and  Eurydice.) 

Five  and  six  line  stanzas  are  merely  developments  of  some 
of  the  different  sorts  of  quatrains  just  illustrated.  They  may 
be  formed  in  any  way  the  poet  pleases,  so  long  as  they  are 
in  accordance  with  what  was  said  in  Chapter  VII  about  the 
arrangements  of  runes;  These  stanzas  are  much  less  common 
than  quatrains,  and  no  one  particular  type  has  come  into 
popularity.  A  few  examples  of  the  five  line  stanza  (quintain) 
follow: 


adbba: 


ababb: 


Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee, 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee; 

And  the  elves  also, 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

(Herrick:    Night-Piece.) 


Go  lovely  Rose — 

Tell  her  that  wastes  her  tune  and  me, 
154 


ababb: 


abaab: 


aabbb: 


STANZA  FORMS 

That  now  she  knows 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

(Waller:    Go  Lovely  Rose.) 


The  Queen  sat  idly  by  her  loom, 

She  heard  the  arras  stir, 
And  looked  up  sadly:  through  the  room 
The  sweetness  sickened  her 
Of  musk  and  myrrh. 

(Rossetti:    Staff  and  Scrip.) 


At  the  chill  high  tide  of  the  night, 
*    At  the  turn  of  the  fluctuant  hours, 
When  the  waters  of  time  are  at  height, 
In  a  vision  arose  on  my  sight 
The  kingdoms  of  earth  and  the  powers. 

(Swinburne:    Tenebrae.) 


Mary  mine  that  art  Mary's  Rose, 

Come  in  to  me  from  the  garden-close. 

The  sun  sinks  fast  with  .the  rising  dew, 

And  we  marked  not  how  the  faint  moon  grew; 

But  the  hidden  stars  are  calling  you.          n 

(Rossetti:    Rose  Mary.) 

The  six  line  stanza  (sexain)  is  more  frequently  used  than  the 
five  line.  The  following  are  a  few  of  the  forms  which  it  may 
take: 


abdbcc: 


He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek, 
Or  a  coral  lip  admires, 

Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek 
Fuel  to  maintain  his  fires: 
155 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

As  old  time  makes  these  decay, 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away. 

(Carew:     Unfading  Beauty.) 


abbaab: 


abbacc: 


xayaza: 


abcbac: 


What  thing  unto  mine  ear 
Wouldst  thou  convey — what  secret  thing, 
O  wandering  water  ever  whispering? 
Surely  thy  speech  shall  be  of  her. 
Thou  water,  0  thou  whispering  wanderer, 

What  message  dost  thou  bring? 

(Rossetti:    Stream's  Secret.) 


Of  Florence  and  of  Beatrice 
Servant  and  singer  from  of  old, 
O'er  Dante's  heart  in  youth  had  toll'd 

The  knell  that  gave  his  lady  peace; 
And  now  in  manhood  flew  the  dart 
Wherewith  his  City  pierced  his  heart. 

(Rossetti:    Dante  at  Verona.) 


The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  heaven; 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth' 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand, 

And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven. 

(Rossetti:    Blessed  Damozel.) 


Sing  to  me!    Ah  remember  how 
Poor  Heine  here  in  Paris  leant 
Watching  me  play  at  the  fall  of  day 

And  following  where  the  music  went, 
Till  that  old  cloud  upon  his  brow 
Was  almost  smoothed  away. 

(A.  Noyes:    Death  of  Chopin.) 
156 


STANZA  FORMS 

dbcabc: 

Fasten  your  hair  with  a  golden  pin, 
And  bind  up  every  wandering  tress; 
I  bade  my  heart  build  those  poor  rhymes: 
It  worked  at  them,  day  out,  day  in, 
Building  a  sorrowful  loveliness 
Out  of  the  battles  of  old  times. 
(W.  B.  Yeats:    He  Gives  His  Beloved  Certain  Rhymes.) 

aabccb: 

No  time  casts  down,  no  time  upraises, 
Such  loves,  such  memories,  and  such  praises, 

As  need  no  grace  of  sun  or  shower 
No  saving  screen  of  post  or  thunder, 
To  tend  and  house  around  and  under 

The  imperishable  and  peerless  flower. 

(Swinburne:    Age  and  Song.) 

The  only  seven  line  stanza  that  has  an  acknowledged 
position  in  English  verse  is  the  rime  royal.  This  seems  to 
have  been  first  used  by  Chaucer  in  his  Complaint  to  Piety. 
It  receives  its  name  from  the  old  French  term  chant-royal,5 
applied  to  a  type  of  poems  with  similar  stanzas.  It  was  used 
by  King  James  I.  of  Scotland,  in  his  charming  old  romantic 
story,  the  King's  Quair,  by  other  poets  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  by  Shakespeare  in  his  Lucrece.  It  is  composed 
of  iambic  pentameter  lines  rimed  ababbcc.  This  scheme 
gives  the  very  pleasing  variation  of  alternate  rimes  blending 
into  couplets.  The  association  of  the  form  with  Middle 
English  romance  has  given  it  the  individuality  that  attaches 
to  aristocratic  lineage.  William  Morris  is  the  only  modern 
poet  to  revive  the  form.  Examples  are: 

To  Troilus  right  wonder  wel  with-alle 
Gan  for  to  lyke  hir  mening  and  hir  chere, 
Which  somedel  deynous  was,  for  she  leet  fale 


6  See  below,  p.  255. 

157 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Hir  look  a  lite  a-side,  in  swich  manere, 
Ascaunces,  "what!  may  I  not  stonden  here?" 
And  after  that  her  loking  gan  she  lighte, 
That  never  thought  him  seen  so  good  a  sighte. 

(Chaucer:    Troilus,  I,  1,  42.) 

In  a  far  country  that  I  cannot  name; 

And  on  a  year  long  ages  past  away, 

A  king  there  dwelt  in  rest  and  ease  and  fame, 

And  richer  than  the  Emperor  is  to-day: 

The  very  thought  of  what  this  man  might  say, 

From  dusk  to  dawn  kept  many  a  lord  awake, 

For  fear  of  him  did  many  a  great  man  quake. 

(Wm.  Morris:    Proud  King.) 

Other  seven  line  forms  that  have  been  used  are  ababcca: 

Dear  and  great  Angel,  wouldst  thou  only  leave 
That  child,  when  thou  hast  done  with  him,  for  me! 
Let  me  sit  all  the  day  here,  that  when  eve 
Shall  find  performed  thy  special  ministry, 
And  time  come  for  departure,  thou,  suspending 
Thy  flight,  may'st  see  another  child  for  tending, 
Another  still,  to  quiet  and  retrieve. 

(Browning:    Guardian  Angel.) 

and  ababccb: 

Weary  of  erring  in  this  desert  life, 

Weary  of  hoping  hopes  forever  vain, 
Weary  of  struggling  hi  all  sterile  strife, 

Weary  of  thought  which  maketh  nothing  plain, 
I  close  my  eyes  and  calm  my  panting  breath, 
And  pray  to  Thee,  0  ever  quiet  Death! 

To  come  and  soothe  away  my  bitter  pain! 
(J.  Thomson,  "  B.  V. " :    To  Our  Ladies  of  Death.) 

Stanzas  of  eight  lines  may  be  composed  by  doubling 
any  form  of  quatrain,  or  by  freely  combining  two  different 
quatrains,  with  or  without  using  tail-rime.  The  commonest 

158 


STANZA  FORMS 

examples  are  those  in  the  Hymned,  composed  by  doubling 
short,  long,  or  common  meter. 

The  best  known  form  of  eight  line  stanza,  ottava  rima, 
was  borrowed  from  Italy  by  Wyatt  and  Surrey.  The  Eliza- 
bethans used  it  for  long  narrative  and  reflective  pieces.  It 
was  revived  in  the  nineteenth  century  by  Byron,  Keats,  and 
others.  It  consists  of  iambic  pentameter  rimed  abababcc: 

O  Love!    0  Glory!    what  are  you  who  fly 

Around  us  ever,  rarely  to  alight? 
There's  not  a  meteor  in  the  polar  sky 

Of  such  transcendent  and  more  fleeting  flight. 
Chill,  and  chained  to  cold  earth,  we  left  on  high 

Our  eyes  in  search  of  either  lovely  light: 
A  thousand  and  a  thousand  colors  they 
Assume,  then  leave  us  on  our  freezing  way. 

(Byron:    Don  Juan,  VII,  1.) 

The  only  recognized  stanza  form  remaining  to  be  consid- 
ered is  the  Spenserian.  This  stanza,  invented  by  Spenser 
for  his  Faery  Queene,  is  composed  of  nine  iambic  lines,  eight 
pentameters  concluded  by  an  alexandrine  (hexameter),  and 
rimed  ababbcbcc:6 

A  gentle  Knight  was  pricking  on  the  plaine, 
Ycladde  in  mightie  armes  and  silver  shielde, 
Wherein  old  dents  of  deepe  wounds  did  remaine, 
The  cruell  markes  of  many"  a  bloudie  fielde; 
Yet  armes  till  that  time 'did  he  never  wield: 
His  angry  steede  did  chide  his  foaming  bitt, 
As  much  disdayning  to  the  curb  to  yield: 
Full  jolly  knight  he  seemd  and  faire  did  sitt, 
As  one  for  knightly  giusts  and  fierce  encounters  fitt. 

(I,  1,  1.) 

This  highly  wrought  stanza  lends  itself  to  the  expression 

•For  an  interesting  study  of  the  Spenserian  stanza,  see  H.  Corson: 
op.  tit.,  pp.  87-133. 

159 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

of  elaborate  decorative  art.  Simple  themes  or  realistic 
narratives  are  out  of  place  in  it.  As  each  stanza  is  adaptable 
to  a  separate  picture,  the  form  is  particularly  fitted  to  lei- 
surely, romantic,  ornate  story-telling.  A  good  way  to 
manage  it  is  to  use  the  couplet  in  the  middle  as  a  position 
of  emphasis  in  the  development  of  the  stanza  thought,  which 
should  sweep  to  a  full  close  in  the  stately  Alexandrine  at  the 
end. 

Since  Spenser's  time  the  stanza  has  been  in  favor  with  many 
poets,  both  major  and  minor.  Modified  forms  of  it  were 
used  by  several  early  seventeenth  century  poets,  and  in  the 
eighteenth  century  its  extensive  revival  marked  one  of  the 
earlier  stages  of  the  romantic  movement.  In  the  nineteenth 
century  it  was  used  with  superb  effect  by  Shelley,  Keats, 
and  Byron.  The  following  illustrations  show  different 
themes  for  which  it  has  been  used: 

A  shrilling  trompet  sounded  from  on  hye, 
And  unto  battail  bad  themselves  addresser 
Their  shining  shieldes  about  their  wrestes  they  tye, 
And  burning  blades  about  their  heads  do  blesse, 
The  instruments  of  wrath  and  heavinesse: 
With  greedy  force  each  other  doth  assayle, 
And  strike  so  fiercely,  that  they  do  impresse 
Deepe  dinted  furrowes  in  the  battred  mayle; 
The  yron  walles  to  ward  their  blowes  are  weak  and  fraile. 

(Faery  Queene,  I,  5,  6.) 

Now  strike  your  sails  ye  jolly  Mariners, 
For  we  be  come  unto  a  quiet  rode, 
Where  we  must  land  some  of  our  passengers, 
And  light  this  wearie  vessell  of  her  lode. 
Here  she  awhile  may  make  her  safe  abode, 
Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent, 
And  wants  supplide.    And  then  againe  abroad 
On  the  long  voyage  whereto  she  is  bent: 
Well  may  she  speede  and  fairly  finish  her  intent. 

(Ibid,  I.  12.  42.) 
160 


STANZA  FORMS 

I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs; 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand : 
I  saw  from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter's  wand: 
A  thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand 
Around  me,  and  a  dying  Glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times,  where  many  a  subject  land 
Looked  to  the  winged  Lion's  marble  piles. 
Where  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles! 
(Byron:    Childe  Harold,  IV.) 

The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass; 
Heaven's  light  forever  shines,  Earth's  shadows  fly; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments. — Die, 
If  thou  wouldst  be  that  which  thou  dost  seek! 
Follow  where  all  is  fled! — Rome's  azure  sky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words,  are  weak, 

The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 
(Shelley:    Adonais.)1 

7For  stanzas  of  more  than  nine  lines  used  in  the  Middle  English 
period,  see  R.  M.  Alden:  op.  cit.,  and  Schipper:  Englische  Metrik. 


161 


CHAPTER  X 
TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

The  tetrameter  couplet,  although  the  oldest  of  the  verse 
forms  still  in  use,  has  not  been  such  a  favorite  with  modern 
poets  as  blank  verse,  or  the  heroic  couplet.  It  has,  however, 
a  most  respectable  lineage,  and  in  the  hands  of  masters  of 
versifying  has  shown  itself  capable  of  much  interesting 
variety.  It  occurs  extensively  in  middle  English  poetry, 
notably  in  the  narrative  work  of  Gower,  and  to  some  extent 
in  Chaucer.  It  was  the  vehicle  for  many  of  the  miracle  plays, 
the  moralities,  and  parts  of  Spenser's  Shepherd's  Calendar. 
The  Elizabethans  found  it  much  less  interesting  than  other 
narrative  forms.  In  the  seventeenth  century  it  was  used  in 
short  pieces  by  Jonson,  Milton,  Andrew  Marvell,  and  others; 
and  Butler,  by  employing  it  for  his  Hudibras,  made  it  very 
popular  for  satire.  He  was  followed  by  Swift  and  Prior 
in  the  next  century,  and  late»Parnell  used  it  for  reflective 
verse. %  In  the  romantic  revival  it  was  again  extensively  em- 
ployed in  narrative — by  Burns  and  Wordsworth  in  a  few 
pieces,  by  Coleridge  in  his  Christabel,  but  particularly  by 
Scott  and  Byron  in  their  verse  tales.  Later,  William  Morris 
used  the  form  for  parts  of  his  Earthly  Paradise. 

Each  of  the  poets  mentioned  have  used  this  couplet  with 
a  certain  individuality.  In  spite  of  this,  however,  it  is  not 
capable  of  so  wide  variation  as  the  heroic  form.  The  chang- 
ing characteristics  of  the  pentameter  couplet  have  been  due 
chiefly  to  the  manner  of  phrasing  popular  at  different  periods; 
but  with  the  tetrameter  couplet,  variation  has  been,  more 
than  anything  else,  a  matter  of  rhythm. 

The  rhythmical  pattern  of  the  tetrameter  couplets  written 
by  Glower,  Chaucer,  and  nearly  all  the  poets  of  the  last 

162 


TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

three  centuries,  has  been  very  strictly  duple.  The  conven- 
tion as  to  the  number  of  syllables  to  a  line  has  been  care- 
fully observed  so  that  such  tetrameters  are  called  octosyllabic 
couplets.  The  couplets  of  older  English  verse  were  quite 
irregular  in  rhythmical  pattern,  admitting  feet  of  one,  two, 
three  or  even  four  syllables.  This,  from  its  apparently 
haphazard  effect,  has  been  called  tumbling  verse,  its  only 
restriction  being  four  approximately  equal  time  parts  to 
each  line. 

Tumbling  verse  was  brought  to  its  greatest  perfection 
by  Spenser's  experiments  with  it  in  the  sections  of  his 
Shepherd's  Calendar  for  February,  May,  and  September. 
Here  is  a  passage  that  introduces  most  of  the  types  of  lines 
that  Spenser  admits  in  this  meter.1 

Sorrow  ne  neede  be  hastened  on, 
For  he  will  come,  without  calling,  anone; 
While  times  enduren  of  tranquillitie, 
Usen  we  freely  one  felicitie; 
5    For  when  approchen  the  stormie  stowres, 

We  mought  with  our  shoulders  bear  off  the  sharp  showers; 
And,  sooth  to  sayne,  nought  seemeth  sike  strife, 
That  shepheards  so  witen  eche  others  life, 
And  layen  her  faults  the  worlde  beforne, 
10    The  while  their  foes  done  eache  of  hem  scorne. 
Let  none  mislike  of  that  may  not  be  mended; 
So  conteck  soone  by  concord  mought  be  ended. 

(Shepherd's  Calendar — May.) 

Just  how  this  may  be  best  read  is  questionable,  but  nearly 
everyone  familiar  with  the  poem  will  agree  that  the  lines 
were  probably  all  intended  for  tetrameters.  Lines  3,  4,  11, 
and  12  can  easily  be  read  as  pentameters,  but  certainly  fit 
the  context  better  if  divided  into  four  feet  thus: 

1  There  has  been  much  question  as  to  what  Spenser  was  aiming  at 
here.  I  suggest  as  an  explanation  that  he  was  imitating  the  experi- 
menter Skelton,  many  of  whose  attempts  are  in  a  cruder  form  of  this 
tumbling  rhythm. 

163 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

While  |  times  en-  |  duren  of  Iran-  |  quilli-  |  tie, 

Let  |  none  mis-  |  like  of  that  may  |  not  be  |  mended. 

or,  perhaps, 

Let  1  none  mis-  |  like  of  that  |  may  not  be  |  mended. 

Couplets  of  such  irregular  rhythm  and  with  such  ambiguous 
lines  as  those  just  quoted,  have  not  been  tried — with  the 
exception  of  William  Morris's  experiment2 — since  Spenser's 
day.  The  octosyllabic  couplet,  however,  has  been  much 
used,  and  has  gone  through  almost  as  many  changes  as  the 
pentameter  couplets,  though  the  differences  in  type  are 
subtler. 

One  of  the  finest  examples  in  English  is  Milton's  use. 
Let  us  analyze  a  passage. 

Come,  pensive  Nun,  devout  and  pure, 

Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 

All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain, 

Flowing  with  majestic  train, 
5    And  sable  stole  of  Cyprus  lawn 

Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 

Come;  but  keep  thy  wonted  state, 

With  even  step,  and  musing  gait, 

And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
10    Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes: 

There,  held  in  holy  passion  still, 

Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till 

With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast 

Thou  fix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast. 
15    And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace  and  Quiet, 

Spare^Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet, 

And  hear  the  muses  in  a  ring 

Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  a  constant  change  in  the  flow  of 
the  iambic  movement  by  repeated  variation  at  the  beginning 

1  The  Folk-Mote  by  the  River  in  Poems  by  the  Way,  1896. 

164 


TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

of  lines  (where  variation  is  always  most  conspicuous).  Less 
than  half  of  the  lines  begin  with  the  ideal  iambic  movement3 
of  an  unstressed  syllable  preceding  a  stress.  Four  of  the  lines 
(1,  11,  16,  18)  are  so  phrased  as  to  begin  with  an  extra 
accent,  e.  g. 

€61116,  |  pensive  |  Nun,  de-  |  vout  and  |  pure; 

and  one  line  (13)  begins  with  two  unstressed  syllables  fol- 
lowed by  a  monosyllabic  foot,  e.  g. 

With  a  |  sad  |  leaden  |  downward  |  cast. 

These  two  variations  seem  to  hold  up  the  movement  momen- 
tarily. Two  other  types  of  beginning  have  the  effect  of 
hurrying  it.  Two  lines  begin  with  a  trisyllabic  foot: 

|  All  in  a  |  robe  of  |  darkest  |  grain, 

and 

|  Over  thy  |  decent  |  shoulders  (  drawn; 

and  three  lines  (2,  4,  7)  have  a  straight  trochaic  movement: 

Sober,  |  steadfast,  |  and  de-  |  mure, 
Flowing  |  with  ma-  |  jestic  |  train, 

and  |  Come;  but  |  keep  thy  |  wonted  |  state. 

The  proportion  of  trochaic  lines  is  very  much  greater  in 
U Allegro,  where,  of  course,  a  more  rapid  movement  is  in 
keeping  with  the  lighter  mood.  In  that  poem,  both  of  the 
last  mentioned  beginnings  occur  with  fine  effect  in  the  coup- 
let, 

While  the  cock,  with  lively  din, 
Scatters  the  rear  of  darkness  thin. 


1  This  analysis,  of  course,  is  merely  my  reading  of  the  passage.  Any 
reader  may  disagree  with  me  in  details,  but  I  think  he  will  admit  the 
general  principle  of  the  change  in  flow  of  the  movement,  and  also  that 
it  is  brought  about  by  such  variations  as  I  suggest,  though  he  may  find 
them  in  other  places. 

165 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Variation  at  the  end  of  the  line  is  much  rarer  in  all  kinds 
of  verse  than  at  the  beginning.  The  only  case  of  it  in  the 
passage  from  II  Penseroso  is  the  light  endings  in  the  couplet, 

And  join  with  thee  calm  Peace  and  Quiet, 
Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  gods  doth  diet. 

The  only  other  type  of  variation  at  the  end  of  the  line 
occurring  in  these  two  companion  poems  is  the  employment 
of  a  trisyllabic  second  foot  with  a  monosyllabic  third,  e.  g. 

And  |  singing,  |  startle  the  |  dull  |  night, 
and, 

And  |  to  the  |  stack  or  the  |  barn-  |  door. 
Andrew  Marvel's  exquisite  couplet, 

Annihilating  all  that's  made 

To  a  green  thought  hi  a  green  shade, 

(Garden.) 

may  be  quoted  in  this  connection. 

Further  analysis  of  Milton's  octosyllabics  should  deal 
with  the  conflicts  of  his  phrasing  with  the  metrical  and 
rhythmical  pattern  of  the  form.  Notice  the  shifting  of  the 
cesuras  in  the  first  four  lines.  If  one  read  following  the 
punctuation,  there  would  be  two,  in  different  positions,  in 
each  of  the  'first  two  lines;  then,  perhaps,  one  after  robe 
in  the  third;  and  none  in  the  fourth.  The  meaning  is  usually 
complete  in  each  couplet,  though  not  in  each  line.  In  lines 
11  to  15,  the  meaning  runs  through  two  couplets,  with  an 
interesting  reversal  of  the  position  of  the  pauses  in  lines  11 
and  12.  The  conflict  of  the  phrasing  with  the  rhythm  brings 
about  less  than  one  light  stress  to  every  two  lines,  and  a  mod- 
erate number  of  extra  accents,  as  in, 

Thy  |  rapt  s6ul  |  sitting  |  in  thine  |  eyes. 

We  may  take  a  totally  different  type  of  verse,  written 

166 


TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

in  the  same  century,  to  show  by  extreme  contrast,  of  what 
variety  the  octosyllabic  is  capable.  The  couplets  of  Butler's 
Hudibras  are  so  distinctive  that  they,  and  the  verses  written 
in  imitation  of  them,  have  gone  by  the  name  of  Hudibrastic. 
This  use  of  tetrameter  not  only  forms  a  distinctive  type,  but, 
in  Butler's  hands,  it  is  capable  of  great  variety  within  the 
type.  There  is  amusing  description,  brilliant  flash  of  epi- 
gram, rollicking  narration,  vulgarity,  and  at  times,  pictur- 
esqueness — all  done  with  fitting  rhythmical  effect.  To 
attempt  to  quote  is  difficult,  but  here  are  a  few  lines  chosen 
more  or  less  at  random : 

He  knows  the  seat  of  Paradise, 
Could  tefl  in  what  degree  it  lies, 
And,  as  he  was  dispos'd,  could  prove  it 
Below  the  moon,  or  else  above  it; 
What  Adam  dreamt  of,  when  his  bride 
Came  from  her  closet  in  his  side; 
Whether  the  Devil  tempted  her 
By  a  High  Dutch  interpreter; 
If  either  of  them  had  a  navel; 
Who  first  made  music  malleable; 
.  Whether  the  Serpent  at  the  Fall, 
Had  cloven  feet,  or  none  at  all: 
All  this  without  a  gloss  or  comment, 
He  would  unriddle  in  a  moment, 
In  proper  terms  such  as  men  smatter 
When  they  throw  out  and  miss  the  matter. 

Beside  he  was  a  shrewd  philosopher, 
And  had  read  ev'ry  text  and  gloss  over. 

That  with  more  care  keep  holy  day 
The  wrong,  than  others  the  right  way. 

(Part  I,  Canto  1.) 

Gave  way  to  fortune  and  with  haste 
Fac'd  the  proud  foe,  and  fled  and  fac'd, 
167 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Retiring  still  until  he  found 

He  had  got  the  advantage  of  the  ground. 

That  he  resolv'd,  rather  than  yield, 
To  die  with  honor  in  the  field, 
And  sell  his  hide  and  carcase  at 
A  price  as  high  and  desperate 
As  e'er  he  could.    This  resolution 
He  forthwith  put  in  execution. 

(Part  I,  Canto  3.) 

If  we  compare  these  couplets  with  Milton's,  we  find  about 
twice  the  proportion  of  light  stresses.  This  gives  a  free  and 
easy  impression,  like  a  bubbling  over  of  witty  conversation, 
careless  and  unpremeditated.  The  large  number  of  feminine 
rimes  and  the  surprise  at  the  ingenuity  of  many  of  them  bring 
a  jocose  turn  at  the  end  of  each  couplet.  The  meaning  is 
rarely  complete  within  the  line,  but  each  couplet  either  com- 
pletes the  sense,  or  is  a  clause  added  loosely  to  the  preceding 
couplet.  The  enjambed  phrasing  of  the  last  four  lines  quoted 
is  not  usual  with  Butler. 

The  passages  from  Milton  and  Butler  just  analyzed, 
exemplify  the  two  general  types  of  tetrameter  couplets 
used  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  though, 
of  course,  each  poet  who  used  the  form — Shakespeare 
(Prologues  in  Pericles),  Swift,  Prior,  Gay,  Collins,  etc., — 
individualized  it  with  his  own  phrasing.  A  distinct  change 
came  with  Coleridge's  ChristabeL* 

Christdbel  is  written  on  a  basis  of  equality  of  time  parts, 
in  spite  of  the  theory  and  the  conventions  of  the  eighteenth 
century  as  regards  uniformity  of  rhythmical  pattern.  In 
his  preface  Coleridge  says:  "The  meter  of  Christabel  is  not, 
properly  speaking,  irregular,  though  it  may  seem  so  from  its 
being  founded  on  a  new  principle,  namely,  that  of  counting, 
in  each  line,  the  accents,  not  the  syllables.  Though  the  latter 
may  vary  from  seven  to  twelve,  yet  in  each  line  the  accents 

4  Part  I  written  1797,  Part  II  1800,  both  published  1816. 

1G8 


TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

will  be  found  to  be  only  four.  Nevertheless,  this  occasional 
variation  in  number  of  syllables  is  not  introduced  wantonly, 
or  for  the  mere  ends  of  convenience,  but  in  correspondence 
with  some  transition  in  the  nature  of  the  imagery  or  passion." 
Here  is  the  much  discussed  opening  of  the  poem: 

'Tis  the  middle  of  night  by  the  castle  clock, 
And  the  owls  have  awakened  the  crowing  cock; 
Tu-whit!  .  .  .  Tu-whoo! 
And  hark,  again!  the  crowing  cock, 
5    How  drowsily  it  crew! 

Sir  Leoline,  the  Baron  rich, 
Hath  a  toothless  mastiff  bitch; 
From  her  kennel  beneath  the  rock 
She  maketh  answer  to  the  clock, 
10    Four  for  the  quarters,  and  twelve  for  the  hour, 
Ever  and  aye,  by  shine  and  shower, 
Sixteen  short  howls,  not  over  loud; 
Some  say,  she  sees  my  lady's  shroud. 

Is  the  night  chilly  and  dark? 
15    The  night  is  chilly,  but  not  dark. 

The  thin  gray  cloud  is  spread  on  high, 

It  covers  but  not  hides  the  sky. 

The  moon  is  behind  and  at  the  full; 

And  yet  she  looks  both  small  and  dull. 
20    The  night  is  chill,  the  cloud  is  gray: 

'Tis  a  month  before  the  month  of  May, 

And  the  spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way 

In  this  poem  Coleridge  has  attained  the  perfection  in  a  free 
tetrameter  which  Spenser  did  not  reach  in  his  experiments. 
In  the  tetrameters  of  the  Shepherd's  Calendar  the  rhythm 
is  only  occasionally  duple,  usually  duple-triple,  and  often 
huddled  by  four  syllable  feet.  Christabel  is  chiefly  in  duple 
rhythm,  varied  by  duple-triple,  or  triple  occasionally,  and 
never  admits  feet  of  more  than  three  syllables.  The  changes 
in  the  flow  of  the  movement,  spoken  of  in  connection  with 

169 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Milton's  use,  is  much  more  varied  than  Milton's,  but  rarely 
abrupt  as  Spenser's.  Coleridge  uses  all  the  changes  in  the 
beginning  of  lines  pointed  out  in  the  passage  from  Milton, 
uses  them  more  frequently  throughout  the  poem,  and 
supplements  their  effect  by  this  change  in  rhythm  for  whole 
lines  and  passages.  Probably  the  wide  range  in  the  rhythm 
of  Christabel  would  not  have  pleased  Milton's  ear,  but  we 
may  appreciate  and  imitate  both  as  exquisite  examples  of 
two  different  types  of  couplets. 
The  third  line  of  Christabel, 

Tu-whit!  .   .   .  Tu-whoo! 

is  perhaps  best  read  as  a  tetrameter  with  two  feet  occupied 
by  intervals  of  silence.  Lines  5  and  14  may  be  read  as  tri- 
meters, or  as  tetrameters  with  the  last  foot  occupied  by  an 
interval  of  silence: 

How  |  drowsi-  |  ly  it  |  crew!  |      | 

|  Is  the  night  |  chilly  and  |  dark?  |      | 

Such  musical  equivalence  had  been  used  by  the  Elizabethans,5 
but  had  not  been  in  favor  for  nearly  two  centuries.  Coleridge 
admits  trochaic  lines  frequently  and  an  occasional  triplet, 
as  at  the  end  of  the  specimen  quoted.  He  has  also  intro- 
duced two  or  three  quatrains,  several  lines  of  dimeter,  and 
once,  a  longer  stanza  rimed  abcacbcbb. 

Unusual  couplets  worth  noting  are, 

A  lady  so  richly  clad  as  she — 
Beautiful  exceedingly. 

It  is  a  wine  of  virtuous  powers; 

My  |  mother  |  made  it  of  |  wild  |  flowers. 

She  was  most  beautiful  to  see, 
Like  a  |  lady  |  of  a  |  far  coun-  |  tree. 

1  See  above,  p.  15. 

170 


TETRAMETER  COUPLET 

Finally,  the  repetitions  of  words  and  rimes,  and  the  varying 
tone-color  are  other  extremely  interesting  embellishments. 

Under  the  influence  of  Christabel,6  Scott  varied  the  couplets 
of  his  long  narratives,  using  the  form  with  a  stirring  music 
of  his  own.  Byron  in  his  own  way  followed  Scott's  use  of 
tetrameter.  In  the  hands  of  these  two  skilful  metrists  the 
couplet  bid  fair  to  be  again  as  popular  as  it  was  in  the  four- 
teenth century.  This  passage  shows  what  Scott  could  make 
of  it: 

If  thou  wouldest  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight; 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day, 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  the  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white; 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruined  central  tower; 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die; 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave, 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruined  pile; 

And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair. 

(Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  II,  1.) 

There  may  be  some  danger  of  the  student  considering  the 
two  long  passages  quoted  from  Coleridge  and  Scott  perfectly 
typical.  They  are  intended  to  illustrate  the  most  varied  parts 
of  poems  of  several  hundred  lines,  most  of  which  are  in  strict 
duple  rhythm.  Besides  introducing  duple-triple  rhythm, 
Scott  prevents  monotony  by  frequently  falling  into  stanza 

'  Scott  published  his  narratives  before  Coleridge's  poem  appeared, 
but  he  had  heard  parts  of  it  read  in  manuscript. 

171 


forms.  He  uses  quatrains,  five  and  six  line  stanzas,  and,  in 
Marmion,  long  stanzas  with  repeated  rimes  that  give  a  cumu- 
lative effect  to  melodramatic  scenes. 

One  other  means  of  gaining  variety  in  the  couplet,  that  has 
not  appeared  in  any  of  the  poets  discussed,  occurs  in  Keats's 
fragment,  the  Eve  of  St.  Mark: 

Bertha  was  a  maiden  fair, 
Dwelling  in  th'  old  minster  square; 
From  her  fire-side  she  could  see, 
Sidelong,  its  rich  antiquity, 
5    Far  as  the  Bishop's  garden-wall; 
Where  sycamores  and  elm-trees  tall, 
Full-leaved,  the  forest  had  outstript, 
By  no  sharp  north-wind  ever  nipt, 
So  sheltered  by  the  mighty  pile. 
10    Bertha  arose  and  read  awhile, 

With  forehead  'gainst  the  window-pane. 
Again  she  tried,  and  then  again, 
Until  the  dusk  had  left  her  dark 
Upon  the  legend  of  St.  Mark. 

This  trick  of  dividing  the  couplet  by  making  a  full  stop  or 
an  important  pause  necessary  after  the  first  line  of  it  (5-6, 
9-10,  11-12),  Keats  learned  from  Chaucer,  who  was  evident- 
ly his  model  in  this  early  piece. 

Another  poet  who  learned  this — as  well  as  other  delightful 
things — from  Chaucer,  is  William  Morris.  His  handling 
of  the  strict  octosyllabic  couplet  in  many  of  his  stories  in 
the  Earthly  Paradise  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  and  varied 
in  the  history  of  the  form.  Here  are  two  specimens: 

Grew  Accontius  wan 
As  the  sea-cliffs,  for  the  old  man 
Now  pointed  to  the  gate,  where  through 
The  company  of  maidens  drew 
Toward  where  they  stood;  Accontius 
With  trembling  lips,  and  piteous 
Drawn  brow,  turned  toward  them,  and  afar 
172 


Beheld  her  like  the  morning-star 

Amid  the  weary  stars  of  night. 

Midmost  the  band  went  his  delight, 

Clad  in  a  gown  of  blue,  whereon 

Were  wrought  fresh  flowers,  as  newly  won 

From  the  May  fields;  with  one  hand  she 

Touched  a  fair  fellow  lovingly, 

The  other,  hung  adown,  did  hold 

An  ivory  harp  well  strung  with  gold; 

Gladly  she  went,  nor  seemed  as  though 

One  troublous  thought  her  heart  did  know. 

(Accontiiis  and  Cydippe.) 

Sharper  things  grew  beneath  the  light, 
As  with  a  false  dawn;  thin  and  bright 
The  horned  poppies'  blossoms  shone 
Upon  a  shingle  bank,  thrust  on 
By  the  high  tide  to  choke  the  grass; 
At  night  it  the  sea-holly  was, 
Whose  cold  gray  leaves  and  stiff  stark  shade 
On  earth  a  double  moonlight  made. 

(Ring  Given  to  Venus.) 

To  the  slightly  archaic  flavor  of  the  occasional  Chaucerian 
touches  in  the  language  of  the  first  selection,  Morris  has 
added  many  of  the  skilful  variations  pointed  out  in  other 
uses  of  this  couplet.  The  conflict  of  the  accents  of  the 
meaning  with  the  stresses  of  the  meter  is  nowhere  better 
handled,  producing  such  lines  as, 

Whose  cold  gray  leaves  and  stiff  stark  shade, 
and 

A  rose  wreath  round  a  pearl-wrought  crown. 

(Watching  of  the  Falcon.} 

Where  they  are  in  place,  lines  with  a  suggestively  imitative 
rhythm  occur: 

Swift  from  her  shoulders  her  long  hair, 

(Ibid.) 
173 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
and, 

and  thence  undid 

The  jewelled  collar,  that  straight  slid 
Down  her  smooth  bosom  to  the  board. 

(Writing  on  the  Image.) 

And  then,  Morris's  phrasing  has  very  great  freedom.  The 
eighteen  lines  of  the  passage  from  Accontius  and  Cydippe 
have  but  two  sentences,  the  end  of  one  and  the  beginning 
of  the  next  dividing  a  couplet;  the  ends  of  grammatical 
clauses  rarely  come  at  the  ends  of  lines.  The  slightly  imper- 
fect rimes,  wan:  man;  whereon:  won;  shone:  on;  grass: 
was,  are  perhaps  intended  archaisms. 

The  student  may  feel  that  all  the  possible  variations  in 
the  tetrameter  couplet  have  been  already  made  use  of; 
that  there  is  no  room  for  further  development.  But  doubt- 
less, each  generation  in  the  past  felt  this.  Some  new  narra- 
tive poet  may  appear,  who  will  show  us  that  there  are  still 
new  possibilities  in  the  oldest  of  our  English  meters. 


174 


CHAPTER  XI 

PENTAMETER  LINE — HEROIC  COUPLET 

For  over  five  centuries  of  English  literary  verse  the  pen- 
tameter line  in  iambic  movement  has  been  most  employed  of 
all  verse  patterns.  It  is  the  basis  for  the  heroic  couplet, 
blank  verse,  the  heroic  quatrain,  rime  royal,  ottava  rima, 
terza  rima,  the  Spenserian  stanza,  the  sonnet,  many  types 
of  the  ode,  and  various  unnamed  stanza  forms.  Though 
the  line  occurs  sporadically,  and  probably  by  accident,  in 
some  early  examples  of  tetrameter  "tumbling  verse,"1  its 
first  unmistakable  use  as  a  norm  is  Chaucer's  in  his  poems 
in  rime  royal  and  in  his  early  ballades.  As  pentameter 
had  long  been  in  use  in  Old  French  poetry,  Chaucer  probably 
borrowed  the  meter,  as  well  as  some  of  the  manner  and  sub- 
stance, of  the  continental  poets  who  furnished  his  first 
inspiration.2  And  since  the  time  when  Chaucer  invented, 
or  discovered,  the  use  of  the  line  in  riming  couplets,  it  has 
been  the  greatest  of  English  meters. 

There  are  several  reasons  for  the  overwhelming  preference 
shown  by  poets  and  readers  for  this  meter.  The  native 
English  meter,  tetrameter,  by  the  irregular  character  of  its 
rhythm,  allowed  much  more  variety  in  one  respect  than 
the  iambic  pentameter,  but  the  unvaried  symmetrical  divi- 
sion of  every  line  into  two  parts  by  the  cesura  made  it  ex- 
tremely monotonous  in  another  respect.  The  octosyllabic 
couplet,  which  was  the  fashionable  form  just  before  Chaucer's 

1  See  Chapter  X,  p.  163. 

2F.  B.  Gummere  ("Beowulf  and  English  Verse,"  American  Journal 
Philology.  1st  ser.,  vol.  7)  presents  the  theory  that  the  pentameter  line 
may  have  developed  from  an  attempt  to  give  an  iambic  movement 
to  Middle  English  tumbling  verse. 

175 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

introduction  of  the  iambic  pentameter,  was,  even  in  Chaucer's 
own  handling  of  it,  in  danger  of  the  same  objectionable 
monotony  as  the  older  tumbling  verse,  and  held  its  own  with 
difficulty  against  the  more  varied  foreign  innovation.  The 
feet  of  the  pentameter  naturally  break  into  groups  of  two 
plus  three,  or  three  plus  two;  but  the  tetrameter,  even  when 
the  place  of  the  cesura  is  varied  by  the  punctuation  or 
phrasing,  is  felt  as  two  dimeters.  This  division  may  be 
purely  subjective,  but  some  effort  seems  to  be  required  to 
hear  or  feel  tetrameter  lines  not  symmetrically  divided. 
Another  reason  for  our  preference  for  the  pentameter  may 
be  the  greater  opportunity  for  avoiding  monotony  by  shifting 
the  position  of  the  light  stresses  from  line  to  line.  Pentameter 
can  often  bear  one  light  stress  in  every  line  of  a  passage, 
but  tetrameter  is  weakened  by  such  a  large  proportion; 
the  result  is  that  perhaps  half  the  lines  in  octosyllabic  verse 
have  their  four  full  stresses. 

Hexameter  and  octameter  verses,  like  tetrameter,  divide 
symmetrically  in  half,  unless  an  effort  of  attention  makes  the 
reader  or  listener  feel  them  in  some  other  way.  Heptameter 
very  easily  breaks  up  into  the  "common"  or  ballad  meter, 
an  alternation  of  tetrameter  and  trimeter.  In  fact,  hep- 
tameter,  octameter,  and  nonameter  lines  are  too  long  to 
be  heard  by  the  ear  as  single  rhythmic  groups,  for  the  psy- 
chology of  rhythm  shows  that  five  or  possibly  six  units  in 
a  group  are  the  limit  that  we  can  perceive  without  regularly 
breaking  them  into  smaller  groups.  In  order  to  feel  the  lines 
in  the  long  meters  of  Swinburne  as  distinct  units,  the  ear 
must  be  assisted  by  the  eye. 

The  pentameter  line,  then,  seems  to  have  been  preferred 
in  English  to  other  lines,  because  it  is  the  only  form  that  has 
not  a  tendency  to  breakup  regularly  into  some  shorter  form.3 

1  The  alexandrine  holds  a  corresponding  place  in  French  verse.  It 
is  not,  however,  like  the  English  alexandrine,  a  hexameter  with  a 
tendency  to  break  in  the  middle,  but  a  twelve  syllable  line  with  a  con- 
tinually changing  meter.  It  may  be  in  turn  trimeter,  tetrameter, 

176 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

The  constant  use  of  the  line  in  successive  ages  of  our 
poetry  has  given  it  a  remarkably  varied  development  in 
rhythm  and  phrasing.  Examples  of  one  or  two  light  stresses 
occurring  in  different  portions  in  the  line  have  been  given  in 
Chapter  II,  examples  of  lines  with  light  endings,  and  of  pas- 
sages with  continual  shifting  of  the  position  of  the  cesura 
have  been  given  in  Chapter  III.  The  changes  in  rhythmic 
pattern  exemplified  in  Chapter  IV  were  chiefly  the  variations 
that  the  poets  have  used  from  the  iambic  pentameter  norm. 
All  the  changes  in  the  flow  of  rhythm  that  we  found  occurring 
in  the  octosyllabic  couplet  may  also  be  found  in  the  various 
uses  of  the  pentameter  line,  with  the  advantage  of  the  added 
scope  for  variety  which  five  feet  would  give  over  four.  A 
great  many  kinds  of  variation  from  the  iambic  rhythm 
have  been  practiced  by  slowing  up  the  line  with  extra  accents, 
or  hurrying  it  with  the  ripple  of  one  or  two  trisyllabic  feet. 
The  only  limit  in  modern  pentameters  to  such  variation 
is  that  it  should  not  occur  frequently  enough  in  a  poem  or 
passage  to  change  the  general  character  of  iambic  movement 
for  more  than  a  line  or  two;  the  distinct  departure  from 
this  movement  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  tetrameters  of 
Christabel  has  never  been  admitted  in  pentameter  verse. 
Moreover,  in  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries,  poets 
seem  to  have  a  distinct  prejudice  against  lines  of  less  than 
ten  syllables,  though  trochaic  lines  of  seven  syllables  are 
very  common  in  many  forms  of  tetrameter  verse.  All  these 
points  have  been  presented  in  Chapter  IV. 

One  of  the  commonest  variations  in  the  use  of  pentameter 
lines  is  the  introduction  of  a  certain  type  of  ten  syllable 
tetrameter,  which  makes  a  complete  break  in  the  iambic 
movement.  The  most  quoted  line  of  Pope's  Essay  on  Man 
is  an  example.  This  may  be  read  as  a  pentameter, 

The  |  proper  |  study  |  of  man-  |  kind  is  |  man, 

or  even  pentameter,  or  hexameter;  and  thus  have  a  complete  change 
in  rhythm  from  line  to  line.  See  M.  Grammont:  Vers  Fran^ais,  Paris, 
1904. 

177 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

with  a  light  stress  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  foot;  but  nine 
readers  out  of  ten,  reading  naturally  and  without  thought  of 
metrical  theory,  will  huddle  the  second  and  third  foot  to- 
gether so  that  they  have  approximately  the  same  time  value 
as  one  foot;  i.  e.,  the  line  is  read  in  four  tune  parts  instead 
of  five, 

The"  |  proper  |  study  of  man-  |  kind  is  |  man. 

A  natural  reading  of  the  two  following  lines  from  Hamlet 
will  show  by  contrast  how  distinctive  this  type  is: 

For  I  have  that  within^that  passeth  show 
These  but  the  trappings jmd  the  suits  of  woe. 

Any  reader  who  does  not  read  verse  as  prose  would,  of  course, 
give  the  first  line  five  tune  parts  and  a  perfect  iambic  move- 
ment. The  second  line  read  after  the  same  pattern  sounds 
very  stiff  and  awkward: 

These  |  but  the  |  trappings  |  and  the  \  suits  of  |  woe. 

The  usual  reading  will  divide  this  into  four  time  parts  and 
completely  upset  the  iambic  movement  that  characterized 
the  preceding  line: 

|  These  but  the  |  trappings  and  the  |  suits  of  |  woe.4 

The  distinctive  point  of  this  tetrameter  is  that  it  must  have 
four  syllables  in  the  second  foot;  it  may  always  be  read  as 
pentameter  by  dividing  this  foot  into  two  and  adding  a  light 
stress,  should  anyone  prefer  such  a  reading.  For  some  inex- 
plicable reason  no  other  type  of  tetrameter  line  may  be  sub- 
stituted in  a  context  of  pentameters  without  a  sensitive  ear 
regarding  it  as  a  careless  error  on  the  part  of  the  poet  or  reader. 

4  The  theory  that  such  lines  in  heroic  verse  are  really  read  as  te- 
trameters was  first  put  forth  by  Professor  C.  W.  Cobb  in  1910  ("A  type 
of  Four-Stress  Verse  in  Shakespeare,"  New  Shakespeareana  10:1).  He 
added  objective  evidence  for  the  theory,  based  on  experiments  in  the 
psychological  laboratory  of  the  University  of  Michigan  in  "A  Scientific 
Basis  for  Metrics,"  Modern  Language  Notes,  May,  1913. 

178 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

This  can  be  made  clear  by  a  study  of  ten  lines  of  Pope's 
Rape  of  the  Lock: 

Know  further  yet:  whoever  fair  and  chaste" 
Rejects  mankind,  is  by  some  Sylph  embrac'd; 
For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes  and  what  shapes  they  please. 
5    What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  maids, 
In  courtly  balls  and  midnight  masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treach'rous  friend,  the  daring  spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark, 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
10    When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires? 

Lines  4,  5,  and  10  are  of  the  type  that  nearly  every  reader 
will  read  in  four  time  parts,  and  yet  they  fit  most  agreeably 
into  the  context  of  pentameters.  If,  however,  we  substitute 
three  lines  of  other  types  of  tetrameter,  they  will  not  go  at 
all  successfully  with  the  pentameters,  e.  g. 

For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  a  sex  or  a  shape  as  they  please. 
What  guards  the  honor  of  melting  maids, 
In  courtly  balls  and  midnight  masquerades,  .  .  . 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
When  music  melts,  when  dancing  fires? 

These  underlined  tetrameters  have  respectively  ten,  nine,  and 
eight  syllables,  but  all  alike  fail  to  combine  pleasingly  with 
the  pentameters.  The  only  type  of  tetrameter  that  can  do 
this  is  the  one  that  has  four  syllables  huddled  into  the  second 
foot.5 

6 1  have  heard  a  few  readers  also  make  tetrameters  out  of  lines  of  the 
type, 

The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark  (line  8,  above), 
where  the  light  stress  in  the  fourth  place  makes  them  huddle  the  third 
and  fourth  foot  into  one: 

The  |  glance  by  |  day,  the  |  whisper  in  the  |  dark. 
This,  however,  in  a  pentameter  passage  I  find  very  displeasing  to  my 
ear,  and  I  think  most  readers  will  agree  with  me. 

179 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

A  convincing  proof  that  this  type  of  line  is  actually  read 
as  tetrameter  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  poets  have 
occasionally  included  it  in  passages  of  undoubted  tetrameter 
verse.  Blake,  whose  versification  was  guided  by  an  ear 
uninfluenced  by  theories,  has  done  this  in  several  places,  e.  g. 

Why  art  thou  silent  and  invisible, 

Father  of  Jealousy? 
Why  dost  thou  hide  thyself  in  clouds 

From  every  searching  eye? 

(Father  of  Jealousy.) 

The  tetrameter  of  parts  of  Spenser's  Shepherd's  Calendar, 
as  has  been  noted  in  Chapter  X,  contains  many  lines  that 
can  be  read  as  pentameters,  though  the  author  doubtless 
intended  them  for  tetrameters,  e.  g. 

Tho  went  the  pensife  Damme  out  of  dore, 
And  chaunst  to  stomble  at  the  threshold  flore: 
Her  stombling  steppe  some  what  her  amazed. 

Shelley  furnishes  a  few  examples  of  the  same  thing. 
Black  as  a  cormorant  the  screaming  blast, 

would  do  just  as  well  in  his  heroic  verse  as  in  the  tetrameter 
context  of  A  Vision  of  the  Sea.6  The  recent  American  poet, 
Vachel  Lindsay,  clearly  recognizes  the  dual  personality  of 
this  line,  for  he  not  only  uses  it  in  his  pentameter  verse — as 
all  English  poets  from  Chaucer  on  have  done — but  also  em- 
ploys it  with  striking  effect  in  the  midst  of  his  tetrameter 
rhythms: 

And  the  black  crowd  laughed  till  their  sides  were  sore 
At  the  baboon  butler  in  the  agate  door, 

•Professor  Cobb,  in  "A  Further  Study  of  the  Heroic  Tetrameter," 
(Modern  Philology,  1916),  has  collected  many  more  cases  of  the  same 
sort,  which  tend  to  show  that  many  poets  have  felt  the  line  as  a  tetra- 
meter, though  they  followed  the  traditional  prosodic  theory. 

180 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

And  the  well-known  tunes  of  the  parrot  band 
That  trilled  on  the  bushes  JT£  that  magic  land. 

(Congo.) 

Why  a  pentameter  reading  (by  beginning  the  third  foot 
with  a  light  stress)  should  not  be  demanded  by  our  ears 
when  lines  of  this  type  are  read  in  the  midst  of  pentameter 
lines,  no  one  has  successfully  explained.  The  fact  that  they 
are  read  as  tetrameters,  however,  has  been  admitted  by  many 
students  with  ears  trained  accurately  to  distinguish  time 
values. 

These  lines  have  been  employed  by  all  writers  of  heroic 
verse  as  a  frequent  means  of  varying  the  metrical  and  rhyth- 
mical pattern.  They  are  used  more  than  any  other  single 
type  of  line  variation,  except  the  relief  of  beginning  a  line 
with  a  stressed  syllable.  They  occur  very  sparingly  as  a 
break  in  the  deadly  monotony  of  Spenser's  heroic  verse  in 
the  Shepherd's  Calendar,  with  a  frequency  of  from  six  to 
sixteen  per  cent  in  different  plays  of  Shakespeare,  and  in 
as  high  a  proportion  as  twenty-five  per  cent  in  Fitzgerald's 
Omar.  The  use  of  the  "heroic  tetrameter"  may  be  seen  at 
its  best  in  the  couplets  of  Pope  where  it  frequently  adds 
finish  to  a  pointed  epigram.  Though  his  percentage  of  them 
is  high,  he  does  not  risk  the  monotony  of  using  more  than 
two  in  succession.  How  unfortunate  too  great  a  repetition 
of  the  type  may  become  is  illustrated  by  a  school  boy 
translation  of  O.  W.  Holmes,  done  while  he  was  at 
Andover : 

Is  this  your  glory  in  a  noble  line 
To  leave  your  confines  and  to  ravage  mine? 
Whom  I — but  let  these  troubled  waves  subside — 
Another  tempest  and  I'll  quell  your  pride! 
Go  bear  our  message  to  your  master's  ear, 
That  wide  as  ocean  I  am  despot  here; 
Let  him  sit  monarch  in  his  barren  caves! 
I  wield  the  trident  and  control  the  waves. 
181 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  third  line  of  the  passage  is  the  only  one  that  is  not  likely 
to  be  read  as  a  "heroic  tetrameter." 

The  reader  may  justifiably  protest  against  this  rather 
disproportionate  discussion  of  a  single  means  of  adding 
variety  to  the  heroic  line,  but  it  has  seemed  necessary,  for 
this  special  type,  though  very  distinctive,  has  not  had 
sufficient  recognition  by  students  of  meter. 

The  commoner  stanza  forms  hi  which  heroic  verse  is  used 
have  been  mentioned  in  Chapter  IX.  Its  most  frequent 
uses,  in  couplets  and  in  blank  verse,  remain  to  be  con- 
sidered. 

Heroic  Couplet. — The  heroic  couplet  has  taken  two  forms, 
the  "open"  and  the  "closed,"  each  fashionable  during  dif- 
ferent periods  in  our  literary  history.  The  difference  between 
the  forms  is  a  matter  of  phrasing.  The  open  type  allows  the 
sense  to  run  over  from  one  line  to  another,  and  from  one 
couplet  to  another;  the  closed  type  strictly  precludes  the 
enjambment  of  a  couplet,  and  rarely  allows  it  in  a  line. 

The  couplet  began  its  long  career  in  English  poetry  with 
Chaucer,  who  used  the  open  variety.  About  sixteen  per  cent 
of  his  lines  and  seven  per  cent  of  his  couplets  are  enjambed. 
The  first  full  stop  in  the  prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales 
occurs  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  line,  but  the  phrasing  with- 
in this  period  makes  the  lines,  and  often  the  couplets,  fairly 
distinct.  In  general,  a  use  not  very  different  from  Chaucer's 
was  common  down  through  the  Elizabethan  period.  During 
the  first  quarter  of  the  seventeenth  century  there  developed 
a  tendency  toward  writing  closed  couplets.  Run-on  lines 
and  couplets  became  gradually  fewer  and  fewer,  until 
both  practically  disappeared  in  the  polishing  process 
which  culminated  in  the  brilliant  perfection  of  Pope.  The 
origin  of  this  closed  couplet  has  been  variously  attributed 
to  Jonson,  Drayton,  Beaumont,  Fairfax,  Sandys,  Waller, 
and  Denham.  But  fashions  in  versification,  like  fashions 
in  thought,  are  not  often  attributable  to  one  man.  The 

182 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

more  original  men  of  similar  temperament  and  similar  back- 
ground will  react  in  the  same  direction. 

The  closed  couplet  continued  to  be  the  dominant  verse 
form  throughout  the  eighteenth  century,  with  Pope  as  the 
chief  model  for  hundreds  of  versifiers,  who  skilfully  imitated 
his  marvelous  correctness  of  form.  The  first  definite  return 
to  the  older  open  form  of  the  couplet  was  Leigh  Hunt's 
Story  of  Rimini,  in  1816.  He  was  followed  by  Keats  and 
Shelley,  whose  example  completely  restored  the  open  couplet 
to  an  important  place  among  English  meters.  Byron  still 
clung  to  the  closed  form  that  best  expressed  the  age  of  ele- 
gance and  epigram,  but  he  has  not  had  many  successors. 
The  couplets  of  Browning,  Morris,  Swinburne,  and  the  poets 
of  the  present  generation  are  modeled  on  those  of  the  type 
of  Chaucer  or  Fletcher,  rather  than  those  of  Dryden  and 
Pope.7 

The  closed  couplet  may  best  be  studied  technically  by 
analyzing  a  passage  from  Pope: 

True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress'd — 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  express'd, 
Something  whose  truth  convinc'd  at  sight  we  find, 
That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind. 
5    As  shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the  light, 
So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit: 
For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good, 
As  bodies  perish  through  excess  of  blood. 

Others  for  language  all  their  care  express, 
10    And  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress: 
Their  praise  is  still — the  style  is  excellent; 
The  sense  they  humbly  take  upon  content.7  • 

Words  are  like  leaves;  and  when  they  most  abound, 
Much  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found. 

15        But  most  by  numbers  judge  a  poet's  song, 

And  smooth  or  rough  with  them  is  right  or  wrong; 

7  The  best  place  to  study  the  history  of  the  couplet  with  plentiful 
examples  is  Alden:  English  Verse,  pp.  174-213. 

183 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

In  the  bright  Muse,  though  thousand  charms  conspire, 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire, 
f  Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  their  ear, 
20 -I  Not  mend  their  minds:  as  some  to  church  repair, 
[  Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 

(Essay  on  Criticism,  II.) 

This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
25    Transform^  to  combs,  the  speckled  and  the  white. 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 
Puffs,  powders,  patches,  bibles,  billet-doux. 

With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray, 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey, 
30    Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare, 
And  beauty  draws  us  ..with  a  single  hair. 

Th'  adventurous  baron  the  bright  locks  admir'd; 
He  saiv.  he  wish'd,  and  to  the  prize  aspir'd. 
Resolv'd  to  win,  he  meditates  the  way, 
35    By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray. 

(Rape  of  the  Lock,  II.) 

In  the  clear  azure  gleam  the  flocks  are  seen 
And  floating  forests  paint  thje  waves  with  green ; 
Through  the  fair  scene  roll  slow  the  lingering  streams, 
Then  foaming  pour  along  and  rush  into  the  Thames. 

(Windsor  Forest.) 

One  interesting  quality  of  this  verse  is  the  amount  of 
variation  possible  within  rigid  limits.  The  number  of 
syllables  in  a  line  is  strictly  limited  to  ten,  though  an  occa- 
sional elision  like  that  in  line  32  is  admitted  as  a  means  of 
keeping  to  this  rule.  The  flow  of  the  iambic  movement  is 
varied/as  in  the  octosyllabic  couplet,  by  three  possible  changes 
at  the  beginning  of  the  line,  i.  e.,  starting  it  with  direct  attack 
(lines  3, 9, 13),  with  a  heavily  accented  syllable  preceding  the 
first  stress  (lines  1,  27,  29),  or  with  two  unstressed  syllables 

184 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

(lines  36,  38).  The  "heroic  tetrameter"  (lines  1,  8,  19),  dis- 
cussed a  few  pages  back,  is  used  in  these  passages  in  a  pro- 
portion of  about  one  line  out  of  six.  The  interesting  effect 
of  breaking  the  rhythm  with  a  trisyllabic  foot  followed  by 
a  monosyllabic  occurs  very  sparingly  in  Pope  but  is  occa- 
sionally admitted,  as  in, 

Th'  ad-  |  venturous  |  baron  the  |  bright  |  locks  ad- 1  mired 
(though  Pope  may  have  meant  such  lines  to  be  read, 

\  * 

Th'  ad-  |  venturous  |  baron  |  the  bright  |  locks  ad-  |  mured). 

A  trisyllabic  foot  without  a  compensating  one  of  a  single 
syllable  is  not  admitted  in  Pope's  prosody. 

The  rare  use  of  an  alexandrine  (line  39)  was  in  accord  with 
the  practice  of  Dryden,  but  Pope  later  condemned  it  in  a 
celebrated  couplet: 

A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along.8 

The  trochaic  phrasing  in  the  amusing  enumeration  of, 
Puffs,  powders,  patches,  bibles,  billet-doux, 

is  a  sort  of  rhythmical  joke  Pope  now  and  then  indulges  in. 
The  phrasing  of  these  couplets,  the  point  over  which 
prosodic  war  was  waged  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  again 
in  the  nineteenth,  shows  the  closed  type  in  its  extreme  form. 
There  are  no  run-on  lines;  that  is,  the  few  lines  (5,  13,  17,  34) 
that  suspend  the  meaning  until  the  following  line  have 
at  least  a  grammatical  pause  at  the  end.9  Every  couplet 

8  The  cleverness  of  this  example  lies  in  the  phrasing  at  the  end  of  it, 
where  the  extra  accent  on  sldw  seems  to  draw  the  line  out  even  longer 
than  its  six  feet  demand. 

9  There  is  a  small  percentage  of  run-on  lines  in  Pope,  particularly  in 
the  Satires  and  in  the  Essay  on  Man,  e.  g. 

185 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

but  one  is  complete  in  itself,  or  adds  to  the  sense  of  the 
preceding;  lines  28-31  show  the  only  use  of  a  periodic  struc- 
ture running  through  two  couplets. 

The  management  of  the  cesura  in  lines  of  closed  couplets 
was  a  point  about  which  the  eighteenth  century  was  very 
strict.  Pope's  own  rule  for  this  is  as  follows:10  "Every 
nice  ear  must,  I  believe,  have  observed  that  in  any  smooth 
English  verse  of  ten  syllables,  there  is  naturally  a  pause 
either  at  the  fourth,  fifth,  or  sixth  syllables.  .  .  .  Now  I 
fancy  that,  to  preserve  an  exact  harmony  and  variety,  none 
of  these  pauses  should  be  continued  above  three  lines  to- 
gether; else  it  will  be  apt  to  weary  the  ear  with  one  continued 
tone — at  least  it  does  mine."  Pope's  definition  of  cesura 
apparently  included  any  grammatical  or  rhetorical  pause 
in  a  line,  whether  marked  by  punctuation  or  not.  Cesuras, 
therefore,  occur  after  nature  in  the  first  line,  and  after  truth 
in  the  third,  as  well  as  after  thought  in  the  second.  Cesuras, 
in  Pope's  sense  of  the  word,  will  be  found  in  about  the  middle 
of  nearly  every  line  in  the  selections  quoted,  and  with  the 
slight  variation  that  he  recommends.  The  majority  of 
readers,  however,  would  probably  find  a  few  exceptions. 
Though  the  antithesis  in  such  lines  as, 

So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit, 

seems  to  demand  at  least  a  slight  rhetorical  pause  in  the  mid- 
dle, there  is  no  particular  reason  for  any  cesura  in  such 
lines  as, 

For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good; 

and  the  line, 

When  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why  man  restrains 
His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains 

Then  shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  comprehend 
His  actions',  passions',  being's,  use  and  end. 

10  Letter  to  Cromwell  (1710),  quoted  in  Saintsbury :  History  of  Eng- 
lish Prosody,  2,  472. 

186 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire, 

if  it  is  read  with  any  cesura  at  all,  must  have  it  after  the 
second  syllable.  Apparently,  then,  the  rule  of  writing  lines 
with  a  slight  pause  after  the  fourth,  fifth,  or  sixth  syllable 
is  one  that,  like  the  rule  forbidding  enjambment,  is  to  be 
generally,  but  not  invariably,  observed. 

One  more  means  of  gaining  variety  hi  the  couplet  is  the 
adding  of  a  third  line  rimed  with  the  two  preceding  and 
phrased  to  effect  a  climax.  The  result  is  called  a  triplet,  an 
effect  introduced  only  at  rare  intervals.  It  is  often  set  off 
from  the  couplets  by  a  brace  (e.  g.  lines  19-21).  i 

All  these  means  of  avoiding  monotony,  which  are  merely 
catalogued  here  and  illustrated  in  several  disconnected 
passages,  should  be  studied  in  some  single  poem  of  Pope, 
the  Rape  of  the  Lock  for  satiric  narrative,  or  the  Essay  on 
Criticism  for  brilliant  epigrammatic  exposition.  Pope's 
poems,  however,  are  not  the  best  to  imitate  in  paragraph 
structure;  Pope  thought  and  wrote  in  clever  but  dis- 
connected epigrams.  An  ideal  Essay  on  Man  or  Essay  on 
Criticism  would  be  expressed  hi  verse  paragraphs  as  coherent 
as  those  of  good  prose. 

There  are  some  other  dangers  that  the  writer  of  this  kind 
of  couplet  may  easily  fall  into.  The  necessity  of  confining 
one's  expression  in  a  mold  so  definitely  fixed  may  cause  one 
to  neglect  the  slight  rhythmic  variations,  the  shifting  of 
cesuras,  etc.,  that  are  permitted,  and,  in  fact,  demanded 
in  order  to  relieve  the  ear.  The  more  fixed  the  norm  in  any 
art,  the  greater  necessity  for  slight  changes  from  the  pattern, 
to  avoid  being  "icily  regular,  splendidly  null."  A  constant 
use  of  the  medial  pause  in  every  line  will  give  a  monotonous 
rise  and  fall  that  may  become  unendurable.  Pope,  as  has 
been  pointed  out,  realized  that  overmuch  antithesis  is  tire- 
some, and  frequently  phrased  his  lines  without  the  medial 
pause.  The  greatest  danger  of  all  is  padding  the  verse  with 
epithets — a  danger  inherent  in  any  Procrustean  couch  for 
poetic  thought.  This  may  be  made  clear  by  reading  the 

187 


opening  lines  of  Pope's  Iliad  without  the  adjectives  that  are 
underlined:11 

Achilles'  wrath,  to  Greece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumber'd,  heavenly  Goddess,  sing! 
That  wrath  which  hurl'd  to  Pluto's  gloomy  reign 
The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  untimely  slain; 
Whose  limbs  unburied  on  the  naked  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore. 

Read  this  way,  they  make  very  good  octosyllabics.  This 
fault  of  padding  is  not  characteristic  of  most  of  Pope's  work, 
but  in  his  weaker  followers  the  "tyranny  of  the  epithet" 
was  a  bondage  hard  to  escape. 

In  spite  of  these  obvious  dangers  the  closed  couplet  in 
skilful  hands  may  give  a  high  degree  of  pleasure  to  a  certain 
type  of  reader.  A  complete  appreciation  of  it  as  a  verse 
form  requires  a  sense  of  rhythm  which  is  conscious  of,  and 
finds  delight  in  subtle  variations  from  a  narrowly  restricted 
norm.  A  reader  with  a  nice  ear,  a  fine  sense  of  the  phrase, 
and  a  keen  relish  for  the  wit  which  dresses  nature  to  advan- 
tage, will  turn  from  the  unrestrained  and  unexpected  rhythms 
of  modern  free-verse  makers  to  the  formal  elegance  of  Pope, 
with  the  reassuring  relief  with  which  one  hears  Mozart 
after  listening  to  Schoenberg. 

Though  the  closed  couplet  through  the  period  of  its 
greatest  popularity  from  Dryden's  Absalom  to  Byron's 
Lara,  was  employed  for  nearly  every  kind  of  poetry — satiric, 
didactic,  descriptive,  narrative,  elegiac — the  poems  in  this 
form  that  are  still  read  are  chiefly  the  satiric  and  didactic. 
The  terse  expressiveness  of  the  couplet,  the  possibilities  it 
offers  of  balance,  antithesis,  and  climax,  and  its  aptness  in 
epigram  make  it  a  perfect  dress  for  wit,  cleverness  and  com- 
mon sense;  but  the  same  rhetorical  qualities  crib  and  con- 
fine deeper  feeling  and  higher  imagination.  At  present,  the 

11  This  example  was  given  by  Scott  in  his  introduction  to  the  Lay  oj 
the  Last  Minstrel. 

188 


form  is  hardly  popular.  Even  Austin  Dobson,  who  has, 
more  than  any  other  modern  poet,  the  courtly  charm  of  the 
age  of  minuets,  miniatures,  and  snuff-boxes,  scarcely  ever 
writes  in  couplets.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  was  one  of  the 
later  wits  who  appreciated  the  perfect  fitness  of  the  form  for 
"occasional"  verse.  A  glance  through  his  poems  written 
for  public  dinners  and  academic  banquets  convinces  one  that 
there  is  no  other  form  so  suitable  for  sparkling,  convivial 
fun  and  the  keen  flash  of  epigram.  Austin  Dobson's  Dia- 
logue to  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope  is  a  splendid 
appreciation  of  the  capabilities  of  the  closed  couplet  in  the 
hands  of  its  greatest  master.  It  may  be  quoted  as  a  perfect 
example  of  the  form  it  praises: 

What  Art  supreme,  what  Elegance,  what  Ease! 
How  keen  the  Irony,  the  Wit  how  bright, 
The  Style  how  rapid,  and  the  Verse  how  light! 
Then  read  once  more,  and  you  shall  wonder  yet 
At  Skill,  at  Turn,  at  Point,  at  Epithet. 

But  Pope  took  up  his  Parable,  and  knit 
The  Woof  of  Wisdom  with  the  Warp  of  Wit; 
He  trimmed  the  Measure  on  its  equal  Feet, 
And  smooth'd  and  fitted  till  the  Line  was  neat; 
He  taught  the  Pause  with  one  effect  to  fall; 
He  taught  the  epigram  to  come  at  call. 

So  I  that  love  the  old  Augustan  Days 
Of  formal  Courtesies  and  formal  Phrase; 
That  like  along  the  finish'd  Line  to  feel 
The  Ruffle's  Flutter  and  the  Flash  of  Steel; 
That  like  my  Couplet  as  compact  as  clear; 
That  like  my  Satire  sparkling  tho'  severe, 
Unmix'd  with  Pathos  and  unmarr'd  by  Trope, 
I  fling  my  Cap  for  Polish — and  for  Pope! 

The    open"  type  of  the  heroic  couplet  may  be  studied  in 
a  rather  extreme  form  in  Keats's  Endymion: 

189 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever; 

Its  loveliness  increases;  it  will  never 

Pass  into  nothingness;  but  stjll  will  keep 

A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 
5    Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing. 

Therefore,  on  every  morrow,  are  we  wreathing 

A  flowery  band  to  bind  us  to.  the  earth, 

Spite  of  despondence,  of  the  inhuman  dearth 

Of  noble  natures,  of  the  gloomy  days, 
10    Of  all  the  unhealthy  and  o'er-darkened  ways 

Made  for  our  searching:  yes>  in  spite  of  all, 

Some  shape  of  beauty  moves  away  the  pall 

From  our  dark  spirits.    Such  the  sun,^the  moon, 

Trees  old  and  young,  sprouting  a  shady  boon 
15    For  simple  sheep;  and  such  are  daffodils 

With  the  green  world  they  live  in;  and  clear  rilla 

That  for  themselves  a  cooling  covert  make 

'Gainst  the  hot  season;  the  mid  forest  break, 

Rich  with  a  sprinkling  of  fair  musk-rose  blooms: 
20    And  such  too  is  the  grandeur  of  the  dooms 

We  have  imagined  for  the  mighty  dead; 

All  lovely  tales  that  we  have  heard  or  read 

An  endless  fountain  of  immortal  drink, 

Pouring  unto  us  from  the  heaven's  brink. 

The  iambic  movement  of  the  passage  is  only  slightly  more 
varied  than  in  the  passages  from  Pope.  Keats  is  almost  as 
strict  as  Pope  in  adhering  to  the  ten  syllable  norm.  The 
exceptions  are  that  Keats  uses  more  lines  with  light  endings 
(feminine  rimes)  than  Pope  would  tolerate,  and  also  prints 
every,  the  inhuman,  and  the  unhealthy,  instead  of  indulging 
in  the  typographical  fiction  of  ev'ry,  th'  inhuman,  and  th' 
unhealthy.  Keats  also  admits  more  frequently  lines  of  the 
type  of, 

Trees  |  old  and  |  young,  |  sprouting  a  |  shady  |  boon, 

which  are  quite  rare  in  Pope;  and  even  introduces  such  a 
rhythmic  change  as, 

190 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

With  the  |  green  |  world  they  |  live  in_;  and  |  clear  |  rills, 

— an  impossible  effect  to  Pope.  A  considerably  greater  free- 
dom of  rhythm  in  the  couplet  is  to  be  found  in  the  passage 
quoted  from  Swinburne,  below,  on  page  194;  but  even  there 
the  freedom  comes  from  the  frequency  with  which  the  changes 
so  far  mentioned  are  introduced,  rather  than  from  the  intro- 
duction of  new  variations. 

As  was  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  the  history  of  the 
heroic  couplet  has  not  shown  development  to  any  extent  in 
rhythmic  changes,  as  has  been  the  case  with  the  tetrameter 
couplet,  but  this  development  has  been  almost  wholly  a 
question  of  phrasing.  The  verse  paragraph  from  Endymion 
is  phrased  so  that  about  half  of  the  lines  have  no  punctuation 
at  the  end,  and  the  more  important  pauses  in  the  sense, 
marked  by  periods,  colons,  or  semicolons,  occur  oftener 
within  the  line  than  at  its  close.  More  than  this,  there  is 
not  a  single  couplet  that  makes  complete  sense  in  itself. 
In  fact,  even  where  the  lines  have  marked  pauses  at  the  end 
(lines  5, 19,  21)  the  sense  splits  the  couplet  in  half.  Apparent- 
ly the  poet  is  studiously  keeping  the  couplet  structure 
from  prominence.  The  rime,  therefore,  is  added  purely  as 
an  ornament,  not  used  to  make  distinct  the  end  of  the  line 
or  to  emphasize  important  words.  An  example  of  couplets 
in  which  the  rime  is  even  less  conspicuous  is  Browning's 
My  Last  Duchess,  quoted  to  illustrate  this  point  in  Chapter 
VII.12 ' 

12  Perhaps  the  most  extreme  case  in  English  of  enjambment  in  the 
couplet  is  William  Chamberlayne's  Pharonnida  (1659): 
.  .  .  had  worn  out  the  morning  in 
Chase  of  a  stately  stag;  which,  having  been 
Forced  from  the  forest's  safe  protection  to 
Discovering  plain,  his  clamorous  foes  had  drew 
Up  to  a  steep  cliff's  lofty  top;  where  he, 
As  if  grown  proud  so  sacrificed  to  be 
To  man's  delight, 

191 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

That  the  rime  in  Keats's  poem  is  purely  an  ornament, 
Professor  Lewis13  makes  quite  evident  by  turning  the  passage 
quoted  into  very  good  blank  verse  by  a  few  slight  alterations: 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever: 

Its  loveliness  increases;  it  will  ne'er 

Pass  into  nothingness;  but  still  will  keep 

A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  slumber 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  brooding. 

Therefore,  on  every  morrow,  do  we  wreathe 

A  flowery  band  to  bind  us  to  this  world, 

Spite  of  despondence,  of  the  inhuman  dearth 

Of  noble  natures,  of  the  gloomy  years, 

Of  all  the  unhealthy  and  o'er-darkened  ways 

Made  for  our  searching. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  writer  of  couplets  to  choose 
either  of  the  extreme  types — that  of  the  Rape  of  the  Lock, 
or  of  Endymion.  Chaucer's  Prologue  and  many  of  the 
Canterbury  Tales,  Leigh  Hunt's  Story  of  Rimini  and  much 
of  William  Morris's  Earthly  Paradise  use  forms  of  the  open 
couplet  that  keep  the  structure  always  evident  to  the  ear, 
but  without  the  rigidity  of  eighteenth  century  phrasing. 
The  moderate  freedom  of  this  couplet  makes  it  perhaps  our 
finest  medium  for  romantic  story-telling.  It  has  not  been 
a  favorite  with  modern  poets  since  Morris  and  Swinburne, 
but  if  the  present  revival  of  interest  in  verse  narrative  con- 
tinues, the  couplet  is  sure  to  come  back  into  favor.  Here  is 
an  example  of  Morris's  use: 

Their  fear  thus  cured  by  information,  he 
That  his  appearance  in  the  court  might  be 
More  glorious  made  by  such  attendants,  to 
Incite  in  them  a  strong  desire  to  view 
Those  royal  pastimes.  .  .  . 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  why  a  poet  should  take  the  trouble  to 
rime  several  thousand  lines  and  then  try  to  conceal  the  fact  by  frequent 
passages  like  these! 

»  Op.  cit.,  p.  67. 

192 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

A  nameless  city  in  a  distant  sea, 

White  as  the  changing  walls  of  faerie, 

Thronged  with  much  people  clad  in  ancient  guise 

I  am  now  fain  to  set  before  your  eyes; 

There  leave  the  clear  green  water  and  the  quays, 

And  pass  betwixt  its  marble  palaces, 

Until  ye  come  unto  the  chief est  square; 

A  bubbling  conduit  is  set  midmost  there, 

And  round  about  it  now  the  maidens  throng, 

With  jest  and  laughter,  and  sweet  broken  song, 

Making  but  light  of  labor  new  begun 

While  in  their  vessels  gleams  the  morning  sun. 

On  one  side  of  the  square  a  temple  stands, 
Wherein  the  gods  worshipped  in  ancient  lands, 
Still  have  their  altars;  a  great  market  place 
Upon  two  other  sides  fills  all  the  space, 
And  thence  the  busy  hum  of  men  comes  forth; 
But  on  the  cold  side  looking  toward  the  north 
A  pillared  council-house  may  you  behold, 
Within  whose  porch  are  images  of  gold, 
Gods  of  the  nations  who  dwelt  anciently 
About  the  borders  of  the  Grecian  Sea. 

(Earthly  Paradise — Prologue.) 

That  the  rime  is  a  very  important  element  in  the  structure  of 
these  couplets,  and  more  than  a  merely  ornamental  effect, 
is  made  clear  by  imitating  Professor  Lewis'  experiment  with 
the  lines  from  Endymion. 

A  nameless  city  in  a  distant  clime, 
White  as  the  changing  walls  of  faerie, 
Thronged  with  much  people  clad  in  ancient  garb 
I  am  now  fain  to  set  before  your  eyes; 
There,  leave  the  clear  green  water  and  the  piers, 
And  pass  betwixt  its  marble  palaces, 
Until  ye  come  unto  the  chief  est  mart; 
A  bubbling  conduit  is  set  midmost  there, 
And  round  about  it  now  the  maidens  throng. 
193 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

This  makes  monotonous  blank  verse,  though,  of  course, 
not  so  bad  as  Pope's  couplets  would  be,  similarly  ill-treated. 
The  two  forms  of  couplet,  open  and  closed,  have  each 
their  most  effective  use  and  their  weak  tendencies.  The 
epigrams  of  Pope  or  the  wit  of  Holmes  couched  in  run-on 
couplets  would  be  insipid;  the  exuberant  imagination  of  the 
young  Keats  fettered  in  the  tight  couplet  would  seem  like 
wild  wood  flowers  in  an  Italian  garden.  The  eighteenth 
century  form,  as  we  have  seen,  was  in  danger  from  a  tiresome 
use  of  epithets;  but  tended,  in  general,  to  conciseness  of 
thought.  The  open  type,  on  the  other  hand, — particularly 
in  its  extremely  run-on  form — lures  the  poet  into  mazes  of 
figure  and  prolixity  of  expression.  Swinburne  falls  into  this 
danger  of  over-embellishment  frequently  in  his  Tristram  of 
Lyonesse — in  the  description  of  Iseult's  eyes,  for  instance: 

The  very  veil  of  her  bright  flesh  was  made 

As  of  light  woven  and  moonbeam-coloured  shade 

More  fine  than  moonbeams;  white  her  eyelids  shone 

As  snow  sun-stricken  that  endures  the  sun, 

And  through  their  curled  and  coloured  clouds  of  deep 

Luminous  lashes  thick  as  dreams  in  sleep 

Shone  as  the  sea's  depth  swallowing  up  the  sky's 

The  springs  of  unimaginable  eyes. 

As  the  wave's  subtler  emerald  is  pierced  through 

With  the  utmost  heaven's  inextricable  blue, 

And  both  are  woven  and  molten  in  one  sleight 

Of  amorous  colour  and  implicated  light 

Under  the  golden  guard  and  gaze  of  noon, 

So  glowed  their  awless  amorous  plenilune, 

Azure  and  gold  and  ardent  grey,  made  strange 

With  fiery  difference  and  deep  interchange 

Inexplicable  of  glories  multiform; 

Now  as  the  sullen  sapphire  swells  toward  storm 

Foamless,  their  bitter  beauty  grew  a-cold, 

And  now  a-fire  with  ardour  of  fine  gold. 

The  reader  is  in  danger  of  losing  himself  so  completely  in 

194 


PENTAMETER  LINE— HEROIC  COUPLET 

this  gorgeous  orchid-jungle  of  words  that  he  forgets  what 
they  are  all  about.  The  closer  phrasing  and  shorter  clauses 
of  Chaucer  and  William  Morris,  which  tend  to  check  such 
flights,  make  safer  guides  for  the  beginner  with  the  couplet 
form. 


195 


CHAPTER  XII 
BLANK  VERSE 

Blank  verse  is  a  term  sometimes  used  broadly  for  any  kind 
of  unrimed  verse,  including  lyrics  with  unrimed  stanzas 
composed  of  regular  or  irregular  line  patterns,  and  even  for 
"free  verse."  More  properly  the  term  blank  verse  is  applied 
only  to  unrimed  iambic  pentameter.  Blank  verse  (in  this 
latter  sense)  holds  the  place  of  greatest  distinction  among 
English  verse  forms.  During  the  three  and  a  half  centuries 
in  which  it  has  been  in  use  it  has  been  made  capable  of  great 
flexibility  and  of  variation  in  many  directions. 

Blank  verse  was  first  used  in  English  by  the  Earl  of  Surrey1 
in  his  translation  of  the  fourth  book  of  the  .<Eneid  (1557). 
It  was  adopted  by  the  authors  of  Gorboduc  (1562)  as  the 
form  for  the  earliest  English  tragedy.  After  being  further 
used  by  Kyd  and  Peele,  and  brought  to  a  high  state  of  per- 
fection by  Marlowe,  it  became  the  great  medium  of  dramatic 
expression  for  Shakespeare  and  the  whole  brilliant  constella- 
tion of  his  contemporaries.  The  Jacobean  and  Caroline 
dramatists  continued  to  use  it  even  in  most  of  their  comedies 
of  humors  and  manners.  After  the  dramatic  interregnum 
it  ceased  to  be  generally  used  for  comedy,  and  during  the 
earlier  period  of  Dryden  was  displaced  in  tragedy,  for  a  time, 
by  the  heroic  couplet.  Later,  Dryden  and  Otway  restored 
the  use  of  it  in  tragedy.  Milton,  by  writing  Paradise  Lost 
(1667)  in  blank  verse,  made  it  the  form  for  subsequent 
English  epics  and  much  narrative  verse.  In  the  eighteenth 
century,  Aikenside,  Thompson,  Cowper,  and  others  employed 
it  for  long  reflective  and  descriptive  poems.  Through  the 

1  It  is  generally  supposed  to  have  been  suggested  to  him  by  the 
versi  sciolti  of  the  Italians. 

196 


BLANK  VERSE 

same  period  it  was  still  used  in  the  classic  tragedies  of  Ad- 
dison  and  Johnson  and  the  romantic  work  of  the  type  of 
Home's  Douglas.  In  the  nineteenth  century,  the  form  has 
appeared  at  its  best  in  the  reflective  poetry  of  Wordsworth, 
Coleridge,  and  Shelley,  and  in  some  of  the  long  narrative 
poems  of  Keats,  Arnold,  Tennyson,  Browning,  and  Swin- 
burne. Verse  drama  in  the  last  century  is  at  its  best  in 
Byron's  Manfred  and  Shelley's  Cenci,  though  there  are  in- 
teresting attempts  by  Lytton,  Knowlcs,  Talfourd,  Tenny- 
son, and  Browning.  Among  recent  poets,  one  of  the  most 
distinctive  in  his  use  of  blank  verse  is  William  Butler  Yeats. 
There  are  other  less  original  examples  among  the  poems  or 
plays  of  Laurence  Binyon,  Alfred  Noyes,  Stephen  Phillips, 
and  Robert  Bridges. 

A  historical  survey  of  the  use  of  blank  verse  shows  that 
it  has  been  the  medium  for  the  most  widely  diversified  types 
of  poetic  thought.  The  greatness  of  the  form  lies  in  its 
extraordinary  flexibility,  its  fitness  for  varied  moods,  and 
its  yielding  to  distinctive  treatment  in  individual  hands. 
Through  it  have  been  perfectly  expressed  the  rage  of  Lear, 
the  advice  of  Polonius,  the  out-nighting  of  Lorenzo  and  Jessi- 
ca, the  sublime  horrors  of  Milton's  hell,  the  finding  of 
Excaliber,  the  delirium  of  Browning's  Bishop,  and  the  easy 
colloquialism  of  Mr.  Sludge.2 

2  For  examples  from  which  to  study  different  types  of  blank  verse 
the  reader  may  find  the  following  suggestions  useful.  Three  stages 
in  Shakespearian  use  may  be  studied  by  comparing  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
Macbeth,  and  the  Tempest.  For  interesting  modern  dramatic  verse, 
Browning's  Blot  in  the  Scutcheon,  Yeats's  Land  of  Heart's  Desire,  Richard 
Hovey's  Launcelot  and  Guinevere,  and  William  Vaughn  Moody's  Fire- 
bringer  are  good  examples.  The  dramatic  monologues,  Andrea  del 
Sarto,  The  Bishop  Orders  his  Tomb,  Mr.  Sludge  the  Medium,  as  well  as 
The  Ring  and  the  Book,  show  what  variety  and  individuality  Browning 
could  give  the  form.  Tennyson's  Ulysses  and  Rossetti's  Last  Confession 
are  not  to  be  overlooked  if  one  is  interested  in  blank  verse  monologues. 
Examples  of  narrative  and  descriptive  blank  verse  useful  for  models 
may  be  found  in  the  first  four  books  of  Paradise  Lost,  in  Keats's  Hy- 
perion, Shelley's  Alastqr,  Arnold's  Sohrab  and  Rustum,  Tennyson's 

197 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

In  all  these  uses  of  blank  verse  the  differences  in  type  and 
in  individual  practice  are  made  possible  by  the  wide  diversity 
in  phrasing  of  which  the  form  is  capable.  Phrasing,  as  has 
been  explained  in  the  discussions  in  Chapters  II  and  VI,  deals 
with  the  relation  of  the  prose  rhythm  of  the  words  with  the 
superimposed  verse  rhythm  and  line  structure.  The  tech- 
nical difference  between  the  lines  uttered  by  Lear  on  the 
heath  and  those  in  which  Thomson  describes  an  April  shower 
is  the  difference  in  the  degree  of  conflict  between  the  two 
forces  of  prose  and  verse  rhythm.  The  elements  of  this 
struggle  have  been  discussed  in  the  first  part  of  this  book 
in  the  consideration  of  light  stress,  extra  accent,  and  other 
rhythmical  changes,  as  well  as  of  enjambment  and  the 
shifting  of  the  cesura. 

The  simplest  conflict  in  the  matter  of  phrasing  is  that 
brought  about  by  the  introduction  of  light  stresses.  Com- 
pare the  two  following  passages  in  this  respect. 

That  to  each  force  of  foreign  princes'  power 
Whom  vantage  of  our  wretched  state  may  move 
By  sudden  arms  to  gain  so  rich  a  realm, 
And  to  the  proud  and  greedy  mind  at  home 
5        Whom  blinded  lust  to  reign  leads  to  aspire, 
Lo,  Britain  realm  is  left  an  open  prey, 
A  present  spoil  by  conquest  to  ensue  1 
Who  seeth  not  now  how  many  rising  minds 
Do  feed  their  thoughts  with  hope  to  reach  a  realm? 
10        And  who  will  not  by  force  attempt  to  win 

So  great  a  gain,  that  hope  persuades  to  have? 

(Gorboduc,  V,  ii.) 

And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love; 
On  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  curtsies  straight; 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees; 

Idylls,  Stephen  Phillips's  Marpessa,  and  Alfred  Noyes's  Drake.  Among 
the  best  examples  of  reflective  blank  verse  are  Coleridge's  Nightingale 
and  Hymn  before  Sunrise,  Wordsworth's  Tintern  Abbey,  and  Bryant's 
Thanatopsis. 

198 


BLANK  VERSE 

5       O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream, 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues, 
Because  their  breaths  with  sweetmeats  tainted  are. 
Sometime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit; 

10       And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  a  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice. 
Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 

15        Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep. 

(Romeo  and  Juliet,  I,  iv.) 

The  two  passages  are  composed  very  largely  of  end-stopped 
lines.  The  one  from  Gorboduc  has  absolutely  no  lines  of 
irregular  rhythm  and  that  from  Romeo  and  Juliet  has  but 
four  (8,  10,  11,  13),  three  of  which  (8,  10,  13)  may  be  made 
regular  by  reading  them  as  pentameters  with  light  stresses 
instead  of  as  "heroic  tetrameters."3  But  the  great  difference 
between  the  two  selections  is  that  the  scarcity  of  light 
stresses  in  the  first — only  eight  in  eleven  lines — gives  it  an 
almost  perfect  and  unrelieved  iambic  phrasing  and  iambic 
rhythm.  Such  monotonous  lines  as 

Do  feed  their  thoughts  with  hope  to  reach  a  realm, 
or 

So  great  a  gain,  that  hope  persuades  to  have, 

with  their  complete  coincidence  of  phrasing  and  rhythm, 
nowhere  occur  in  the  Shakespearian  passage,  which  has 
twenty  light  stresses  in  fifteen  lines.  A  considerable  pro- 
portion— at  least  one  out  of  five  in  the  long  run — of  the 
stresses  in  blank  verse  must  be  light  in  order  to  avoid  the 
first  cause  of  monotony  which  besets  a  crude  versifier.  The 
wastes  of  dull  verse  through  the  three  dreary  parts  of  Henry 

3  See  above,  pp.  177  ff. 

199 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

VI  show  that  the  prentice  Shakespeare  had  many  things  to 
learn  in  this  regard  before  he  became  master  of  his  artistic 
medium.  The  verse  of  these  early  plays  shows  but  little 
advance  over  that  of  Gorboduc. 

But  a  proper  proportion  of  light  stresses  will  not  alone 
insure  verse  against  monotony;  the  position  of  the  light 
stresses  must  be  varied  from  line  to  line  lest  the  rhythmic 
effect  be  identical  in  several  successive  lines.  In  the  following 
eight  lines,  the  fourth  stress  is  invariably  light,  and  in  five 
of  the  lines  the  second  is  also  light. 

Gamaliel  sat  at  evening  on  his  roof 
And  deeply  mused  the  meaning  of  the  law. 
The  holy  city  round  about  him  lay, 
Magnificent,  encircled  with  her  hills. 
Jerusalem  was  glorious  to  behold. 
And  sunlit  with  her  temple  in  the  midst, 
Fast  founded  like  the  basis  of  the  world, 
The  glory  of  the  temple  of  the  Lord! 

The  effect  of  these  last  five  lines,  identical  in  rhythm,  is 
almost  to  establish  a  new  norm,  trimeter  with  quadruple 
rhythm,  in  place  of  the  pentameter  division  of  blank  verse. 
A  similar  change  is  effected  by  making  the  middle  stress 
consistently  light  in  too  many  successive  lines.  In  the  fol- 
lowing six  lines,  there  are  five  which  may  be  read  as  "heroic 
tetrameters,"  or  at  any  rate,  have  weak  stresses  exactly 
in  the  middle. 

These  are  the  face 

And  form  of  beauty,  but  her  heart  and  life 
Shall  they  be  who  shall  see  it,  born  to  shield 
A  happier  birthright  with  intrepid  arms, 
To  tread  down  tyranny  and  fashion  forth 
A  virgin  wisdom  to  subdue  the  world, 
To  build  for  passion  an  eternal  song. 

(Robert  Bridges:    Firegiver.) 

The  reader  may  prefer  not  to  consider  that  the  norm  has 

200 


BLANK  VERSE 

actually  been  changed  in  the  last  two  passages  quoted,  but 
he  must  admit  that  the  effect  of  these  uses  of  light  stresses 
is  exceedingly  tiresome. 

Occasionally  in  the  rimed  verse  of  Rossetti  and  Morris 
an  effect  of  subtle  delicacy  is  produced  by  making  the  last 
stress  weak,  but  in  the  following  from  Hardy's  blank  verse 
there  seems  no  special  reason  for  so  large  a  proportion  of 
weak  fifth  stresses. 

But  out  of  tune  the  mode  and  meritless 

That  quickens  sense  in  shapes  whom,  Thou  has  said, 

Necessitation  sways!    A  life  there  was 

Among  these  self-same  frail  ones — Sophocles 

Who  visioned  it  too  clearly,  even  the  while 

He  dubbed  the  Will  "  the  gods. "    Truly  said  he, 

"Such  gross  injustice  to  their  own  creation 

Burdens  the  time  with  mournfulness  for  us, 

And  for  themselves  in  the  shame." — Things  mechanized 

By  coils  and  pivots  set  to  foreframed  codes 

Would,  in  a  thorough-sphered  melodic  rule, 

And  governance  of  sweet  consistency, 

Be  cessed  no  pain,  whose  burnings  would  abide 

With  that  which  holds  responsibility, 

Or  inexist. 

(Dynasts,  Vol.  I,  p.  165.) 

The  question  of  handling  light  stresses  becomes  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  writing  blank  verse,  as  one  may  see 
by  reading  the  last  three  quotations  aloud.  In  rimed  verse 
the  poet  may  pay  less  regard  to  this  distribution  of  light 
stresses,  or,  to  the  more  obvious  rhythmic  changes,  because 
the  ornament  of  rime  distracts  the  ear,  and  blemishes  and 
subtleties  alike  may  escape  attention. 

If  blank  verse  has  too  large  a  proportion  of  light  stresses 
the  effect  may  be  either  prosaic,  as  in  Browning's 

Historical  and  philosophical, 

(Red  Cotton  Night-Cap  Country.) 
201 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
and, 

Such  spirits'  individuality, 

(Mr.  Sludge.) 

or  it  may  sound  thin,  as  in  Stephen  Phillips's 

Some  days  I  may  be  absent,  and  can  go 
More  lightly  since  I  leave  you  not  alone. 
To  Paolo  I  commend  you,  to  my  brother. 
Loyal  he  is  to  me,  loyal  and  true. 
He  has  also  a  gaiety  of  mind. 

(Paolo,  IV.) 

This  last  line  is  particularly  feeble.  The  weakness  of  the 
Wordsworthian  parody,  the  combined  effort  of  Tennyson 
and  Fitzgerald, — 

A  Mr.  Wilkinson,  a  clergyman, — 

lies  in  the  fact  that,  though  the  line  has  technically  three 
full  stresses,  they  all  fall  on  very  colorless  words. 

This  matter  of  diction  has  an  important  effect  in  another 
way.  It  may  incline  a  reader  to  give  a  line  a  different  rhythm 
and  even  a  different  meter  from  that  intended  by  the  poet. 
The  natural  prose  rhythm  of  the  words  leads  one  astray  in 
some  of  the  Miltonic  lines  quoted  in  Chapter  II. 

And  made  him  bow  to  the  gods  of  his  wives, 
and, 

Cast  wanton  eyes  on  the  daughters  of  men, 

(Paradise  Regained,  II.) 

are  likely  to  require  a  second  reading  to  make  them  pen- 
tameter. It  is  possible  that  Milton's  inability  to  read  his 
own  manuscript  prevented  his  recognizing  that  the  phrasing 
of  these  lines  would  incline  one  toward  a  tetrameter  reading. 
Such  lines  do  not  occur  in  his  earlier  poems. 
The  more  colloquial  the  diction,  the  more  likely  is  the 

202 


BLANK  VERSE 

reader  to  be  in  doubt  of  the  rhythm,  for  the  very  familiar 
rhythm  of  speech  gives  a  swing  against  the  established  pat- 
tern of  the  verse,  and  we  omit  the  necessary  light  stresses 
because  they  sound  forced  and  artificial.  The  verse  of 
Robert  Frost's  North  of  Boston,  because  of  its  very  colloquial 
diction,  has  many  lines  annoyingly  uncertain  at  the  first 
reading,  e.  g. 

I  see  it's  a  fair,  pretty  sheet  of  water, 

Our  Willoughby!    How  did  you  hear  of  it? 

][  expect,  though,  everyone's  heard  of  it. 

In  a  book  about  ferns?    Listen  to  that! 

You  let  things  more  like  feathers  regulate 

Your  going  and  coming.  And  so  you  like  it  here? 

I  can  see  how  you  might.   But ^  don't  know! 

William  Butler  Yeats  seems  to  have  a  fondness  occasionally 
for  phrasing  that  is  intentionally  doubtful,  that  gives  waver- 
ing uncertain  rhythms  appropriate  for  intangible  Celtic 
dreams.  The  reader  may  find  more  than  one  way  of  reading 
several  of  the  following  lines  and  find  subtle  enjoyment  in 
their  hesitancy: 

Once  a  fly  dancing  in  a  beam  of  the  sun, 
Or  the  light  wind  blowing  out  of  the  dawn, 
Could  fill  your  heart  with  dreams  none  other  knew, 
But  now  the  indissoluble  sacrament  .  .  . 

But  your  white  spirit  still  walks  by  my  spirit. 

(Land  of  Heart's  Desire.) 

She  followed  in  the  light  footfall  in  the  midst, 
Till  it  died  out  where  an  old  thorn  tree  stood. 

But  out  of  the  dark  air  over  her  head  there  came 
A  murmur  of  soft  words  and  meeting  lips. 

(Old  Age  of  Queen  Maeve.) 

The  discussion  of  stresses  has  already  brought  us  to  the 
consideration  of  changes  in  rhythm.  There  are,  of  course, 

203 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

more  apparent  changes  than  those  introduced  by  light  or 
wavering  stresses.  There  are  lines  in  all  good  blank  verse 
which  the  poet  undoubtedly  intended  to  be  read  with  the 
effect  of  monosyllabic  and  trisyllabic  feet  interrupting  the 
iambic  norm.4 

A  trisyllabic  foot  when  not  occurring  too  frequently  may 
have  no  particularly  characteristic  effect,  as  in, 

'Twere  |  good  she  were  |  spoken  |  with;  for  |  she  may  |  strew, 

(Hamlet.) 

or, 

Hail  to  your  lordship.    I'm  glad  to  see  you  well. 

(Hamlet.) 

This  extra  syllable  is  especially  common  when,  as  in  the  last 
example,  it  occurs  before  or  after  the  cesura.  When,  however, 
more  than  one  such  foot  is  introduced  in  a  line,  an  effect 
of  lightness  is  given  to  the  verse,  often  suggesting  impa- 
tience, hurry  or  activity,  as, 

But  |  I'll  not  |  wrangle  but  |  with  this  |  talkative  |  knife. 

(Yeats:    Bailees  Strand.) 

Some  witch  of  the  air  has  troubled  Cuchulain's  mind. 

(Ibid.) 

That  drift  into  the  mind  at  a  wink  of  the  eye. 

(Yeats:    Land  of  Heart's  Desire.) 

Browning  gains  a  careless  colloquial  manner  by  using  tri- 
syllabic feet  through  several  successive  lines,  e.  g. 

Comes  from  the  hopper  as  bran-new  Sludge,  naught  else, 

The  Shaker's  hymn  in  G,  with  a  natural  F, 

Or  the  "Stars  and  Stripes'riset  to  consecutive  fourths. 

(Mr.  Sludge.) 

4  Though,  of  course,  the  poet's  own  theory  of  prosody — if  he  had  any 
— may  not  have  called  them  so. 

204 


BLANK  VERSE 

Tickling  men's  ears — the  sect  for  a,  quarter  of  an  hour 
I'  the  teeth  of  the  world  which  clown-like  loves  to  chew. 

(Ring  and  Book,  I.) 

The  most  usual  rhythmic  variation  is  the  interruption  of 
the  iambic  movement  by  a  monosyllabic  foot  preceded  or 
followed  by  a  trisyllabic,  e.  g. 

Of  |  night  and  |  day  and  the  |  deep  |  heart  of  I  man. 

(Shelley:    Alastor.) 

In  the  |  wide  |  pathless  |  desert  of  ['dim  |  sleep. 

(Ibid.) 

Nor  God  alone  in  the  still  calm  we  find. 

(Browning:    Ring  and  Book,  I.) 

The  rings  of  light  quivered  like  forest-leaves. 

(Rossetti:    A  Last  Confession.) 

Interesting  effects  are  produced  by  repeating  this  combina- 
tion twice  in  a  line,  e.  g. 

To  the  |  first  |  good,  first  |  perfect,  and  |  first  |  fair. 

(Browning:    Ring  and  Book,  I.) 

And  |  wasted  for  |  fond  |  love  of  his  |  wild  |  eyes. 

""(Shelley:    Alastor.) 

In  the  deaf  air,  to  the  blind  earth,  and  heaven. 

(Ibid.) 

I  found  it  slip,  easy  as  an  old  shoe. 

(Browning:    Mr.  Sludge.) 

Out  of  the  cold  dark  of  the  rich  sea. 

~~  (YeatsT    On  Baik's  Strand.) 

As  of  the  sky  and  sea  on  a  gray  day. 

(Rossetti:    A  Last  Confession.) 

And  all  the  waves  of  the  world  faint  to  the  moon. 

(S.  Phillips:    Paolo  and  Francesca.) 
205 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

A  voice  singing  on  a  May  eve  like  this. 

(Yeats:    Land  of  Heart's  Desire.) 

A  strange  song  for  a  child  but  she  sings  sweetly. 

(Ibid.) 

Into  the  evening  green  wandered  away. 

(S.  Phillips:    Marpessa.) 

All  these  interruptions  of  the  iambic  movement  of  the 
passages  in  which  they  are  found  seem  to  be  introduced 
purely  for  the  pleasure  which  rhythmic  variation  gives 
modern  ears.  Their  phrasing  does  not  seem  to  be  particularly 
suggestive  of  the  thought  expressed,  except  hi  so  far  as  any 
change  in  rhythm  calls  attention  to  thought,  just  as  allitera- 
tion may.  These  rhythmic  changes,  however,  may,  in 
combination  with  tone-color  and  alliteration,  produce  very 
suggestive  and  often  imitative  lines.  The  following  examples 
are  worth  analyzing  from  this  point  of  view.  The  effects 
come  from  uses  of  light  stress,  extra  accent,  monosyllabic 
and  trisyllabic  feet,  and  tone-color — all  combining  with  the 
meaning  and  connotation  of  the  words. 

The  sound  of  many  a  heavily  galloping  hoof. 

(Tennyson.) 

Tumbling  the  hollow  helmets  of  the  fallen.1 

(Tennyson:    Passing  of  Arthur.) 

Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold. 

(Paradise  Lost,  IV.) 

Long  lines  of  cliff  breaking  have  left  a  chasm.' 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

A  thousand  piers  ran  into  the  great  sea. 

(Tennyson:    Holy  Grail.) 

6  Besides  the  sheer  sound  of  the  words,  notice  the  rhythm  produced 
by  direct  attack  combined  with  a  light  stress  in  the  fourth  place. 

'  The  extra  accent  on  long  slows  the  beginning  of  the  line  and  the 
rhythm  is  sharply  interrupted  in  the  middle. 

206 


BLANK  VERSE 

Prick'd  with  incredible  pinnacles  into  heaven. 


(Ibid.) 


A  long  street  climbs  to  one  tall-tower'd  mill. 

(Tennyson:    Enoch  Arden.) 

Of  some  precipitous  rivulet  to  the  wave. 

(Ibid.) 

Laborious  orient  ivory  sphere  in  sphere. 

(Tennyson :    Princess . ) 

Hammering  and  clinking,  chattering  strong  names. 

(Ibid.) 

Tumbled  it,  oilily  bubbled  up  the  mere. 

(Tennyson:    Gareth  and  Lynette.) 

The  mutter  and  rumble  of  the  trolling  bowls 
Down  the  lean  plank,  before  they  fluttered  the  phis. 
(Henley:    Arabian  Nights.) 

Clang  battleaxe  and  clash  brand!  Let  the  King  reign. 
(Tennyson:    Coming  of  Arthur.) 

Doubted  and  drowsed,  nodded  and  slept,  and  saw, 
Dreaming,  a  slope  of  land  that  ever  grew, 
Field  after  field,  up  to  a  height,  the  peak. 

(Ibid.) 

With  gentle  penetration,  though  unseen, 
Shoots  invisible  virtue  even  to  the  deep.7 

(Paradise  Lost,  III.) 

Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  then"  gait. 

(Ibid.,  VII.) 

The  eloquent  blood  told  an  ineffable  tale. 

(Shelley:    Alastor.) 

Frantic  with  dizzying  anguish  her  blind  flight. 

(Ibid.) 

7  Lowell  (Essay  on  Milton)  reads  this  line  with  the  unusual  accent, 
invisible. 

207 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  question  of  how  often  to  use  phrasing  which  introduces 
such  marked  changes  in  rhythm  as  have  been  exemplified 
in  the  last  few  pages  must  be  determined  by  the  individual 
poet;  there  can,  naturally,  be  no  rule.  Poems  wholly  made 
up  of  lines  of  the  type  here  quoted  as  exceptions,  would  be 
bizarre  tours  de  force.  The  iambic  movement  must  be  kept 
clearly  as  the  norm  of  blank  verse  from  which  such  lines 
occasionally  depart.  In  modern  verse,  from  twenty-five  to 
fifty  per  cent  of  the  lines  have  some  marked  rhythmic  change, 
other  than  that  effected  by  light  stresses.  Less  than  twenty- 
five,  except  in  a  short  poem,  would  approach  dangerously 
near  monotony;  and  more  than  fifty,  except  in  a  passage 
unusually  dramatic,  would  seem  obviously  forced  and  inartis- 
tic. Statistics  and  percentages  in  this  discussion  can  mean 
but  little,  for  though  a  poem  might  have  fifty  per  cent  of 
its  lines  variants  from  the  iambic  rhythm,  if  only  one  or 
two  kinds  of  variation  were  used,  we  should  have  merely 
the  exchange  of  one  tiresome  effect  for  another.  Two  of 
our  greatest  blank  verse  poems,  Wordsworth's  Tinlern 
Abbey  and  Shelley's  A  lastvr,  differ  widely  in  respect  to  rhythm ; 
one  is  an  example  of  reflective  blank  verse  with  but  little 
rhythmic  relief,  and  the  other  an  illustration  of  highly  ro- 
mantic, imaginative  narrative  with  much  musical  variation 
in  rhythm. 

An  analysis  of  a  few  examples  may  be  useful  in  making 
clear  how  much  variation  has  been  used  by  the  poets.  Here 
is  a  passage  from  Tennyon's  Holy  Grail  with  a  high  per- 
centage of  lines  in  which  most  readers  would  find  some 
interruption  in  the  iambic  rhythm,  though  few  of  the 
variations  are  at  all  unusual  in  themselves. 

But  when  the  next  day  brake  from  under  ground — 
0  brother,  had  you  known  our  Camelot, 
Built  by  old  kings,  age  after  age,  so  old 
The  King  himself  had  fears  that  it  would  fall, 
5    So  strange,  and  rich,  and  dim;  for  where  the  roofs 
Totter'd  toward  each  other  in  the  sky, 
208 


BLANK   VERSE 

Met  foreheads  all  along  the  street  of  those 

Who  watch'd  us  pass;  and  lower,  and  where  the  long 

Rich  galleries,  lady-laden  weighed  the  necks 

10    Of  dragons  clinging  to  the  crazy  walls, 

Thicker  than  drops  from  thunder,  showers  of  flowers 
Fell  as  we  past;  and  men  and  boys  astride 
On  wyvern,  lion,  dragon,  griffin,  swan, 
At  all  the  corners  named  us  each  by  name 

15    Calling  "God  speed!"  but  in  the  ways  below 
The  knights  and  ladies  wept,  and  rich  and  poor 
Wept,  and  the  King  himself  could  hardly  speak 
For  grief,  and  all  in  middle  street  the  Queen, 
Who  rode  by  Lancelot,  wail'd  and  shriek'd  aloud, 

20  "This  madness  has  come  on  us  for  our  sins." 
So  to  the  Gate  of  the  Three  Queens  we  came, 
Where  Arthur's  wars  are  render'd  mystically, 
And  thence  departed  every  one  his  way. 

The  commonest  variation  here — and  this  is  true  of  any 
extended  use  of  the  pentameter — is  that  produced  by  be- 
ginning a  line  with  direct  attack  like, 

Thicker  than  drops  from  thunder,  showers  of  flowers. 

Seven  lines,  in  my  own  reading,  are  of  this  type.8  Lines 
that  have  three  syllables  in  other  feet  than  the  first  are  3, 
8,  9,  19,  21.  The  only  "heroic  tetrameter"  seems  to  be, 

Of  dragons  clinging  to  the  crazy  walls. 

There  are  but  two  lines  in  the  whole  passage  that  have  an 
unusual  and  individual  rhythm: 

Built  by  old  kings,  age  after  age,  so  old, 
and, 

So  to  the  gate  of  the  Three  Queens  we  came. 

It  should  be  added  that  the  frequent  use  of  light  stresses,  the 

i     8  Some  readers  might  not  read  lines  3  and  12  in  this  way. 

209 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

result  of  prose  rhythm  conflicting  with  the  established  iambic, 
gives  another  constant  source  of  variety. 

The  flow  of  the  rhythm  of  the  following  lines  from  Shelley's 
Alastor  is  now  interrupted  and  now  hurried  by  the  repeated 
use  of  all  the  devices  that  we  have  discussed  so  far. 

Hither  the  poet  came.    His  eyes  beheld 
Their  own  wan  light  through  the  reflected  lines 
Of  his  thin  hair,  distinct  in  the  dark  depth 
Of  that  still  fountain;  as  the  human  heart, 
5    Gazing  in  dreams  over  the  gloomy  grave, 

Sees  its  own  treacherous  likeness  there.    He  heard 
The  motion  of  the  leaves,  the  grass  that  sprung 
Startled  and  glanced  and  trembled  even  to  feel 
An  unaccustomed  presence,  and  the  sound 

10    Of  the  sweet  brook  that  from  the  secret  springs 
Of  that  dark  fountain  rose.    A  spirit  seemed 
To  stand  beside  him — clothed  in  no  bright  robes 
Of  shadowy  silver  or  enshrining  light, 
Borrowed  from  aught  the  visible  world  affords 

15    Of  grace,  or  majesty,  or  mystery; — 
But,  undulating  woods,  and  silent  well, 
And  leaping  rivulet  and  evening  gloom 
Now  deepening  the  dark  Shades,  for  speech  assuming, 
Held  commune  with  him,  as  if  he  and  it 

20    Were  all  that  was, — only  .  .  .  when  his  regard 
Was  raised  by  intense  pensiveness,  .  .  .  two  eyes, 
Two  starry  eyes,  hung  in  the  gloom  of  thought, 
And  seemed  with  their  serene  and  azure  smiles 
To  beckon  him. 

This  passage,  as  I  prefer  to  read  it,  has  four  lines  (1,  5, 
8,  14)  beginning  with  direct  attack,  and  two  (3,  10)  that  begin 
with  two  unstressed  syllables.  Beside  lines  with  these 
very  common  initial  changes  there  are  seven  (3,  5,  14,  18, 
20,  21,  22)  which  have  some  less  usual  rhythmic  interruption 
within  the  line.  If  we  compare  the  total  number  of  lines 
with  irregularities  in  the  passage  from  Adonais  with  the 
total  number  in  the  passage  from  the  Holy  Grail  the  pro- 

210 


BLANK  VERSE 

portion  seems  to  be  about  the  same,  but  we  should  take  into 
consideration  the  fact  that  but  two  of  the  Tennysonian  lines 
are  striking  in  rhythmic  change,  as  compared  with  seven 
such  in  the  Shelleyian  passage.  This  gives  the  second  quo- 
tation a  much  more  unusual  character  than  the  first.  More- 
over, there  are  five  of  the  Shelleyian  lines  (4,  13,  15,  17,  19) 
which  I  should  read  as  "heroic  tetrameters,"  as  compared 
with  one  hi  the  other  passage.  And  lines  of  this  type  really 
introduce  a  rhythmic  change  more  distinctive  than  any 
other  form  produced  by  a  mere  light  stress.  When  we  take 
these  lines  into  consideration,  too,  we  find  but  barely  eight 
left,  out  of  the  twenty-three  from  Shelley,  in  which  the 
iambic  movement  is  not  disturbed  in  some  way.  In  such 
blank  verse,  then,  this  movement  is  but  an  ideal  around  which 
the  phrasing  constantly  plays,  but  with  which  it  only  occa- 
sionally coincides.9 

*  Here  is  one  more  interesting  piece  of  verse  .in  which  irregu- 
lar rhythms  suggestively  follow  the  thought: 

The  little  golden  hynde 

Whirled  like  an  autumn  leaf  through  league  on  league 
Of  bursting  seas,  chaos  on  crashing  chaos, 
A  rolling  wilderness  of  charging  Alps 
That  shook  the  world  with  their  tremendous  war; 
Grim  beetling  cliffs  that  grappled  with  clamorous  gulfs, 
Valleys  that  yawned  to  swallow  the  wide  heaven; 
Immense  white-flowering  fluctuant  precipices, 
And  hilla  that  swooped  down  at  the  throat  of  hell; 
From  Pole  to  Pole,  a  blanching  bursting  storm 
Of  world-wide  oceans,  where  the  huge  Pacific 
Roared  greetings  to  the  Atlantic  and  both  swept 

•I  wish  to  emphasize  the  statement  made  so  often  before  in  this 
work,  that  this  analysis  is  based  merely  on  my  own  reading.  A  reader 
who  prefers  to  minimize  irregularities  in  rhythm  may  read  half  of  the 
lines  I^ave  discussed,  with  light  stresses  and  extra  accents.  One  whose 
feeling  for  rhythm  is  not  too  near  that  of  the  eighteenth  century  will 
prefer  to  let  the  rhythm  yield  to  the  sense  whenever  possible,  in  reading 
verses  like  these  from  Shelley. 

211 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

In  broad  white  cataracts,  league  on  struggle  league, 
Pursuing  and  pursued,  immeasurable, 
With  Titan  hands  grasping  the  rent  black  sky 
East,  West,  North,  South. 

(Alfred  Noyes:    Drake,  Book  IV.) 

The  analysis  of  this  may  be  left  to  the  student.  He  should 
study  the  changes  in  the  flow  of  the  rhythm,  the  hurried 
headlong  effect  produced  by  a  large  number  of  trisyllabic 
feet  with  only  occasional  checks  by  means  of  monosyllabic 
feet  or  extra  accents. 

A  reading  of  much  good  blank  verse  will  accustom  the 
student's  ear  to  the  types  of  variation  that  bear  the  most 
frequent  repetition.  The  commonest  of  all  is  undoubtedly 
the  line  that  begins  with  direct  attack,  e.  g. 

Showers  on  her  kings,  barbaric  pearl  and  gold. 

Twenty  per  cent  of  the  lines  in  the  last  three  quotations  are 
of  this  type.  The  next  most  frequently  used  is  the  "heroic 
tetrameter,"  or  if  you  prefer,  the  line  with  a  weak  medial 
stress,  e.  g. 

To  Bona  sister  to  the  king  of  France. 

These  two  types  of  variation  occur  constantly  in  all  blank 
verse  from  the  Earl  of  Surrey  down.  The  line  with  a  light, 
or  feminine  ending, 

To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question. 

is  a  third  variety  much  used  by  some  poets.  It  is  commonest 
in  dramatic  verse,  where  it  is  used  "in  moments  of  passion 
and  excitement,  in  questions,  in  quarrel,"  and  "especially 
in  the  light  and  airy  conversation  of  polite  society."10  In 
Shakespeare,  the  frequency  of  its  use — from  one  line  out  of 
sixty-four  to  about  one  out  of  four — has  been  made  a  test 

10  Mayor:  Chapters  on  English  Metre,  Ch.  XI.  See  also  the  tables 
and  specimens  in  Fleay's  Shakespeare  Manual,  Part  II. 

212 


BLANK  VERSE 

for  the  chronology  of  the  plays.  In  modern  blank  verse  it 
is  used  but  sparingly,  but  the  later  Elizabethans  were  ex- 
cessively fond  of  it.  Fletcher  made  it  practically  his  normal 
line,  e.  g. 

Life  is  no  longer  mine,  nor  dear  unto  me, 

Than  useful  to  his  honor  I  preserve  it. 

If  thou  hadst  studied  all  the  curtesies 

Humanity  and  noble  blood  are  linkt  to, 

Thou  couldst  not  have  propounded  such  a  benefit, 

Nor  heaped  upon  me  such  unlookt  for  honor 

As  dying  for  his  sake,  to  be  his  martyr. 

(Custom  of  the  Country,  IV,  i.) 

Besides  these  three  common  and  easily  distinguished 
kinds  of  variation,  a  subtle  ear  will  find  that  lines  of  two 
light  stresses  distributed  thus: 

Appointed  td  conduct  him  td  the  light, 

(Shelley:    Alastor.) 

occur  often  enough  to  stand  out  as  a  definitely  recognized 
type.  It  is  used  by  Stephen  Phillips,  for  instance,  to  the 
extent  of  becoming  a  mannerism.  The  line  with  a  rhythmic 
ending  like, 

With  Asia,  drinking  life  from  her  loved  eyes, 

(Shelley:    Prorwtheus,  I.) 

which  I  read  with  the  third  foot  trisyllabic  and  fourth 
monosyllabic : 

With  |  Asia,  |  drinking  |  life  from  her  |  loved  |  eyes, 

is  a  great  favorite  with  Shelley;  and  William  Butler  Yeats 
employs  it  to  an  even  greater  extent.  The  phrasing, 

Unmanly,  ignominious,  infamous, 

(Samson  Agonistes.) 

though  not  at  all  common,  is  used  by  Milton  frequently 
enough  to  be  characterized  as  Miltonic. 

213 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  young  poet  should  be  careful  of  overworking  any  one 
kind  of  line  and  analyze  his  verse  with  a  view  to  a  more 
varied  revision. 

There  are  certain  rhythmic  variations  from  the  iambic 
which  are  not  what  may  be  called  in  good  use  with  modern 
poets.  Since  the  Elizabethan  period,  lines  with  less  than  ten 
syllables  are  extremely  rare. 

When  you  were  as  helpless  as  a  worm, 

(Yeats:    Countess  CatMeen.) 

has  an  effect  which  modern  ears  might  question,  though  one 
coming  to  it  fresh  from  a  reading  in  Marlowe  or  Shakespeare 
might  not  challenge  it.  A  similarly  unusual  effect  is  found 
in  the  first  two  feet  of  the  following  lines: 

Thea,  Thea,  Thea,  where  is  Saturn. 

(Keats:    Hyperion.) 

Queen  of  Angels  and  kind  saints  defend  us. 

(Yeats:    Land  of  Heart's  Desire.) 

Brother  Edmund  strive  not,  we  are  his  friends. 

(Marlowe:    Edward  II.) 

Crammed  with  slaves  wincing  from  whip-handed  thieves. 
(T.  S.  Moore:    Sea  is  Kind.) 

Lines  in  which  a  syllabic  deficiency  seems  to  be  made  up 
by  the  interval  of  silence  at  the  cesura,  as  in  the  following 
from  Macbeth, 

What  should  be  spoken  here,  |        |  where  our  fate, 
and, 

Died  every  day  she  lived.    |        |  Fare  thee  well, 

are  of  a  type  rare  with  the  Elizabethans  and  quite  ooit  of 
good  use  in  modern  verse.  One  more  rhythm  that  is  com- 
pletely obsolete  is  the  Fletcherian  final  stress  which  hovers 
between  two  important  syllables  in  lines  with  a  feminine 
ending,  as, 

214 


BLANK  VERSE 

And  she  makes  all  the  haste  she  can:    the  man's  lost. 

No  lucky  fortune  to  direct  me  that  way. 

She  was  no  lawful  prize,  therefore  no  bond-woman. 

(Custom  of  the  Country.) 

Before  we  leave  the  matter  of  rhythmic  changes,  the  writer 
of  blank  verse  should  be  cautioned  against  unusual  rhythms 
which  arrest  the  attention  without  any  special  reason.  Why 
did  Browning  phrase  the  following  line  so  that  it  is  slowed 
up  by  extra  stresses? 

Richer  than  that  gold  snow  Jdve  rained  on  Rhodes. 

(Ring  and  Book,  I.) 

Or  why  clutter  up  this  passage  with  so  many  lingual  obstruc- 
tions? 

.  .  .  found  alive 

Spark-like  'mid  unearthed  slope-side  fig  tree-roots 
That  roof  old  tombs. 

(Ring  and  Book,  I.) 

Mr.  T.  Sturge  Moore's  phrasing  in  the  second  line  following 
seems  to  me,  again,  unnecessarily  awkward. 

In  semblance  of  a  haughty  queen  of  eld 
It,  despite  broad  day  visible,  audible. 

(Sea  is  Kind.) 

Effects  like  these,  to  pass  unchallenged,  must  in  some  way  be 
appropriately  suggestive  of  the  thing  said. 

One  more  possible  blemish  in  blank  verse  is  the  uninten- 
tional introduction  of  rime  or  assonance  at  the  ends  of  lines. 
The  first  three  of  the  lines  which  follow  are  perfectly  rimed; 
the  fourth  is  in  assonance  with  them;  and  assonance  binds 
together  the  fifth  and  sixth. 

Pure  as  the  sea-mist  is  my  love  of  thee, 
And  thine  is  golden  as  its  memory. 
Bright  Venus  be  my  witness!    Thou  art  she 
Whose  song  has  won  me  from  black  infamies. 
215 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Thou  knowst  all.    But,  if  thou  pitiest 
One  who  because  of  his  unworthiness  .  .  . 

(H.  V.  Sutherland :    Sappho  and  Phaon.) 

An  annoying  blemish  of  this  sort  may  very  easily  escape 
the  attention  of  the  poet.11 

We  come  now  to  consider  the  last  and  one  of  the  most 
important  matters  in  regard  to  blank  verse — the  conflict 
of  the  sense  phrases  with  the  line  structure.  What  consti- 
tutes a  cesura,  or  a  run-on  line  is  determined  usually  in 
metrical  studies  merely  by  the  punctuation  of  the  passage 
as  printed.  Lines  with  any  kind  of  grammatical  pause  are 
called  end-stopped,  and  lines  printed  without  any  are  called 
run-on  or  enjambed.  It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  there 
are  different  degrees  of  pauses  and  different  degrees  of 
association  in  the  enjambment  of  lines.  For  instance,  in 
the  following  examples,  from  Blake's  early  verses,  phrases 
are  ruthlessly  split  by  the  line  structure  without  any  regard 
to  the  closeness  of  their  familiar  grammatical  association. 

O  Thou  who  passest  through  our  valleys  hi 
Thy  strength,  curb  thy  fierce  steeds  .  .  . 
.  .  .    Beside  our  springs 
Sit  down,  and  in  our  mossy  valleys,  on 
Some  bank  beside  a  river  clear,  throw  thy 
Silk  draperies  off. 

(To  Summer.) 

.  .  .  and,  while  thou  drawest  the 
Blue  curtains  of  the  sky,  scatter  thy  dew. 

(To  the  Evening  Star.) 

This,  of  course,  is  carrying  enjambment  too  far;  the  line 
structure  becomes  only  apparent  to  the  eye.  Enjambment 
which  divides  strictly  associated  words  belongs  only  in  dra- 
matic verse — if,  indeed,  there — in  which  a  colloquial  impres- 

"  Milton  has  admitted  a  number  of  rimed  couplets  in  Paradise  Lost, 
probably,  aa  Lowell  thinks,  unintentionally.  There  is  a  fine  climactic 
effect,  however,  in  the  rimes  in  the  passage  I,  185-191. 

216 


BLANK  VERSE 

sion  is  sought.  There  are  many  passages  in  Henry  VIII,  for 
example,  where  extreme  enjambment,  combined  with  a 
free  use  of  light  endings  inclines  the  actor  to  render  the  lines 
as  merely  rhythmical  prose.  In  contrast  to  enjambment  of 
this  sort,  may  be  cited  some  lines  from  Milton  in  which  the 
proportion  of  run-on  lines  (fifteen  out  of  eighteen)  is  unusu- 
ally large,  but  which  may  be  easily  read  without  obliterating 
the  line  structure. 

Meanwhile  the  winged  heralds,  by  command 

Of  sovereign  power,  with  awful  ceremony 

And  trumpet's  sound,  throughout  the  host  proclaim 

A  solemn  council  forthwith  to  be  held 

At  Pandemonium,  the  high  capital 

Of  Satan  and  his  peers.    Their  summons  called 

From  every  band  and  squared  regiment 

By  place  or  choice  the  worthiest:  they  anon 

With  hundreds  and  with  thousands  trooping  came 

Attended.    All  access  was  thronged;  the  gates 

And  porches  wide,  but  chief  the  spacious  hall 

(Though  like  a  covered  field,  where  champions  bold 

Wont  ride  in  armed,  and  at  the  Soldan's  chair 

Defied  the  best  of  Panim  chivalry 

To  mortal  combat,  or  career  with  lance), 

Thick  swarmed,  both  on  the  ground  and  in  the  air, 

Brushed  with  the  hiss  of  rustling  wings.    As  bees 

In  spring-time  .  .  . 

(Paradise  Lost,  I,  pp.  752-769.) 

The  reader  may  feel  that  there  are  in  this  quotation  varying 
degrees  of  separation  in  the  enjambment,  and  that  in  his  own 
reading  he  would  prefer  to  make  fewer  run-on  lines  than  the 
printer  has  indicated.  The  question  then,  of  just  what  con- 
stitutes a  run-on  line,  and  of  how  many  of  them  there  should 
be,  is  not  to  be  easily  and  arbitrarily  determined.  In  general, 
if  we  judge  merely  by  the  printed  punctuation,  it  appears 
that  Milton's  practice  in  Paradise  Lost  was  to  make  fifty- 
eight  per  cent  of  his  lines  run  over  without  any  punctuation, 

217 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

twenty-five  per  cent  to  pause  with  merely  a  comma  at  the 
end,  and  seventeen  per  cent  he  made  definitely  end-stopped.12 
So  large  a  proportion  of  run-on  lines  is  not  usual  in  blank 
verse.  Milton's  practice  is  a  means  of  gaining  variety  in 
long  sweeps  of  a  very  even  rhythm.  Modern  verse  varies 
more  in  rhythm,  but  has  fewer  run-on  lines.  Tennyson  and 
Browning  made  about  one  line  out  of  three  run  over.  Shelley, 
however,  whose  verse  has  much  rhythmical  variety,  followed 
Milton  in  enjambing  more  than  half  of  his  lines.  It  is  worth 
while  to  observe  the  distinction  between  lines  that  are 
merely  comma-stopped  and  those  which  have  more  positive 
pauses  at  the  end.  Too  great  a  use  of  either  kind  will  make 
for  monotony  in  blank  verse.  Perhaps  a  good  practice  to 
suggest  would  be  a  fairly  even  distribution  of  one-third  of 
each  kind,  run-on,  comma-stopped,  and  full-stopped. 

The  struggle  of  phrasing  with  meter  is  regulated  quite  as 
much  by  the  number  and  position  of  the  cesuras  as  by  the 
question  of  enjambment.  The  nature  of  the  cesura  is  also 
a  determining  factor  in  the  struggle  of  phrasing  with  the 
rhythmical  pattern. 

Most  poets  have  preferred  the  cesura  that  comes  in  the 
middle  of  the  second  or  third  foot  of  a  pentameter  (i.  e.,  in 
a  ten-syllable  line,  after  the  fourth  or  sixth  syllable),  e.  g. 

As  dreadful  as  the  shout  of  one  who  sees 
To  one  who  sins,  1 1  and  deems  himself  alone 
And  all  the  world  asleep,  ||  they  swerved  and  brake. 
(Tennyson:    Coming  of  Arthur.) 

Swinburne  is  peculiar  in  preferring  the  cesura  after  the  third 
foot  (i.  e.,  after  the  seventh  syllable),  e.  g. 

Would  God  my  heart  were  greater;  but  God  wot. 

(Chastelard.) 

Pauses  after  the  first  syllable  of  a  line  and  just  before  the  last 
are  least  used  by  English  poets.  The  interruption  which 

"  These  figures  are  from  E.  P.  Morton's  tables,  Technique  of  English 
Non-Dramatic  Blank  Verse  (diss.)  1910. 

218 


BLANK   VERSE 

these  cesuras  make  in  the  rhythmic  continuity  is  very 
obtrusive.  The  pause  after  the  first  syllable  is  especially 
conspicuous  if  the  word  thus  set  off  is  phrased  with  the  pre- 
ceding line,  as  in  Milton's 

The  Ionian  gods — of  Javan's  issue  held 

Gods,  ||  yet  confessed  later  than  Heaven  and  Earth. 

(Paradise  Lost,  I,  509.) 

Compare  with  this  the  slighter  disturbance  in  the  rhythm  of 
the  following  pair  of  lines, 

Contending,  and  removed  his  tents  far  off; 
Then,  1 1  from  the  mountain  hewing  timber  tall. 

(Ibid.,  XI,  728.) 

When  the  rhythm  of  a  passage  is  broken  by  many  short 
phrases,  pauses  after  the  first  and  before  the  last  syllable 
do  not  much  trouble  the  scansion;  e.  g. 

"0  King,"  she  cried,  "and  I  will  tell  thee:  few, 
Few,  but  all  brave,  all  of  one  mind  with  him." 

(Tennyson:    Coming  of  Arthur.) 

How  the  position  of  the  cesura  varies  from  line  to  line  may 
be  observed  by  studying  the  three  long  extracts  quoted 
earlier  in  the  chapter  as  illustrations  of  different  types  of 
rhythmic  change  from  the  regular  iambic — or  still  better, 
by  reading  several  pages  at  random  from  Milton  or  Tenny- 
son. This  phase  of  the  study  involves  the  personal  judg- 
ment of  the  reader,  for  no  two  of  us  would  agree  exactly  on 
where  to  make  pauses  that  are  too  slight  to  be  marked  by 
punctuation.  The  musician  has  the  advantage  of  the  poet 
here;  he  may  indicate  his  varying  degrees  of  pause  with 
some  subtlety,  while  the  poet  has  merely  the  choice  of  putting 
in  or  leaving  out  a  comma. 

A  study  of  the  punctuation  of  the  best  blank  verse  shows 
that  the  full  stops  come  more  often  near  the  middle  of  the 
lines  than  toward  the  end;  that  the  position  of  all  the  pauses 

219 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

changes  constantly  from  time  to  time  (except  where  a  repe- 
tition brings  emphasis);13  that  the  closer  the  verse  keeps  to 
the  iambic  rhythm  the  more  frequent  are  the  pauses;14 
and  that  the  kind  of  pause — whether  masculine  or  femi- 
nine— is  subject  to  variation.16 

The  question  of  how  much  to  break  the  rhythm  with 
internal  pauses  is  determined  by  the  character  of  the  blank 
verse.  The  more  colloquial  or  dramatic  it  is,  the  more  will 
it  be  interrupted  by  cesuras.  The  meditations  of  Brown- 
ing's Caliban  or  Milton's  Satan  are  broken  by  four  or  five 
times  as  many  pauses  as  the  smooth  eloquence  of  Henry  V 
or  of  Swinburne's  John  Knox.16 

This  classification  and  discussion  of  the  effects  possible 
in  blank  verse  seems  a  wooden  treatment  of  the  most  flex- 
ible and  most  subtle  of  English  forms.  But  any  analysis 

"E.g., 

Fainter  by  day,  but  always  in  the  night, 
Blood-red,  and  eliding  down  in  the  blacken'd  marsh 
Blood-red,  and  on  the  naked  mountain  top 
Blood-red,  and  in  the  sleeping  mere  below 
Blood-red. 

(Tennyson:  Holy  Grail). 

14  Cf.  the  passage  quoted  from  Tennyson  on  p.  208  with  that  from 
Noyes  on  p.  211. 

"The  difference  in  the  effect  of  masculine  and  feminine  cesuras  is 
not  so  significant  in  iambic  verse  as  in  trochaic.  Iambic  movement 
is  stable  enough  to  resist  the  slight  trochaic  impulse  given  by  a  pause 
before  a  stressed  syllable.  Compare  the  effect  of  the  two  kinds  of  cesuras 
in  both  iambic  and  trochaic  pentameter: 

"I  yield  it  just,"  ||  said  Adam,?' and  submit."  (Masculine  in  iambic.) 
"Their  Maker's  image,"  ||  answered  Michael,  "then."    (Feminine  in 
iambic.) 

(Paradise  Lost,  XI,   526  and  515.) 

Wrote  one  song —  1 1  and  in  my  brain  I  sing  it.  (Masculine  in  trochaic.) 
Says  the  poet — 1|  "Then  I  stopped  my  painting."    (Feminine  in  tro- 
chaic.) 

(One  Word  More,   200  and  49.) 

"  Cf.  Paradise  Lost,  IV,  105-1 13'with  Henry  V,  III,  i,  or  BothweU. 

220 


BLANK   VERSE 

of  technique  is,  I  fear,  open  to  that  charge.  The  student 
of  poetry  who  cares  to  read  critically  must  form  some 
quite  definite  basis  for  his  analysis,  then  familiarize  himself 
so  perfectly  with  his  scheme  of  approach  that  this  purely 
intellectual  understanding  of  technique  may  not  interfere 
with  his  emotional  aesthetic  appreciation.  Similarly,  the 
young  verse  writer  may  be  repelled  or  frightened — according 
to  his  degree  of  assurance  or  of  humility — by  all  this  talk 
of  enjambment,  of  cesuras,  of  failing  stresses  and  the  like. 
But  this  discussion  of  technique  is  intended,  for  him,  merely 
as  a  basis  for  revision  and  correction  and  self-criticism. 
Poets  must  write  by  ear,  not  by  rule.  However,  an  analytic 
reading  of  models  and  a  habit  of  intelligent  self-criticism 
may  do  much  to  tune  one's  ear. 


221 


CHAPTER    XIII 

SONNET 

The  sonnet  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  the  well-known  lyric 
forms.  The  exigencies  of  the  rime  scheme  hamper  the  origi- 
nality of  the  poet,  and  the  limitation  as  to  length  often  forces 
the  unskillful  to  pad  or  pare  an  ill-fitting  thought.  These 
difficulties  have  been  responsible  for  so  much  poor  verse 
that  many  readers  look  askance  at  the  form.  In  the  hands 
of  poets  with  skill  in  technique,  however,  the  sonnet  has 
given  exquisite  pleasure  to  the  reader  appreciative  of  the 
subtler  phases  of  poetry. 

The  sonnet  is  an  Old  Provencal  form,  perfected  and  made 
popular  by  Petrarch,  in  the  great  sequence  addressed  to 
his  perhaps  mythical  Laura.  Sonneteering  raged  in  Italy 
through  the  fifteenth  century  and  spread  to  France,  Spain, 
Portugal,  and  England  in  the  sixteenth.  In  English  litera- 
ture the  sonnet  has  taken  two  forms,  the  Italian,  or  true 
sonnet,  and  the  Elizabethan  adaptation. 

As  Rossetti  is  our  greatest  master  of  the  Italian  form, 
one  of  his  will  best  serve  as  a  model: 

When  do  I  see  thee  most,  beloved  one? 

When  in  the  light  the  spirits  of  mine  eyes 

Before  thy  face,  their  altar,  solemnize 

The  worship  of  that  love  through  thee  made  known? 

Or  when  in  the  dusk  hours,  (we  two  alone) 

Close-kissed  and  eloquent  of  still  replies 

Thy  twilight-hidden  glimmering  visage  lies, 

And  my  soul  only  sees  thy  soul  its  own? 

O  love,  my  love!  if  I  no  more  should  see 
Thyself,  nor  on  the  earth  the  shadow  of  thee, 
Nor  image  of  thine  eyes  in  any  spring, — 
222 


SONNET 

How  then  should  sound  upon  Life's  darkening  slope 
The  ground-whirl  of  the  perished  leaves  of  Hope, 
The  wind  of  Death's  imperishable  wing? 

(House  of  Life,  IV.) 

This  type  of  sonnet  consists  of  fourteen  iambic  pentameter 
lines,  the  first  eight,  called  the  octave,  always  rimed  abba 
abba,  and  the  last  six,  the  sestet,  with  three  rimes  variously 
arranged.  The  sestet  of  the  above  sonnet  is  rimed  ccdced, 
but  almost  every  other  possible  combination,  except  three 
couplets,  may  be  used.  The  following  sestets  are  used  by 
the  greatest  English  sonneteers,  in  this  order  of  frequency:1 

c d e c d e  c  cd  e  e  d 

cd  c  d  e  e  c  d  e  e  c  d 

cd  d  c  e  e  cd  e  ed  c 

c  d  e  d  c  e  c  d  d  e  c  e 

c  d  c  e  d  e  c  d  e  d  e  c 

c  d  e  c  e  d  c  d  ce  e  d 

The  type  of  sestet  that  ends  in  a  couplet  is  very  unusual  in 
Italian  poetry,  and  many  English  writers  on  the  sonnet  have 
arbitrarily  decided  against  it.  It  is  to  be  found,  however, 
in  the  work  of  most  of  our  best  sonneteers. 

Another  form  of  sestet,  almost  as  popular  with  the  great 
Italian  sonnet  writers  as  that  just  mentioned,  has  two 
rimes  instead  of  three,  e.  g. 

Sometimes  thou  seem'st  not  as  thyself  alone, 
But  as  the  meaning  of  all  things  that  are; 
A  breathless  wonder,  shadowing  forth  afar 
Some  heavenly  solstice  hushed  and  halcyon; 
Whose  unstirred  lips  are  music's  visible  tone; 
Whose  eyes  the  sun-gate  of  the  soul  unbar, 
Being  of  its  furthest  fires  oracular — 
The  evident  heart  of  all  life  sown  and  mown. 

1  This  list  is  taken  from  the  table  of  sonnet  forms  compiled  by  Pro- 
fessor L.  T.  Weeks  (Modern  Language  Notes,  Vol.  25,  p.  179),  based 
on  an  examination  of  6,283  sonnets. 

223 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Even  such  love  is;  and  is  not  thy  name  Love? 
Yea,  by  thy  hand  the  Love-god  rends  apart 
All  gathering  clouds  of  Night's  ambiguous  art; 
Flings  them  far  down,  and  sets  thine  eyes  above; 
And  simply,  as  some  gage  of  flower  or  glove, 
Stakes  with  a  smile  the  world  against  thy  heart! 

(Rossetti:    House  of  Life,  XXVII.) 

This  form  of  sestet  is  much  used  by  Wordsworth,  Rossetti, 
Mrs.  Browning,  and  Swinburne.  Keats  and  Arnold  also 
wrote  a  few  sonnets  of  this  kind.  It  may  take  the  following 
rime  schemes: 

cd  c  d  cd*       cd cdd c 

cdd  ccd       cd  c  cd  d 

cddcd  c       cdccd  c 

Wordsworth  was  fond  of  one  other  variation,  the  introduction 
of  a  new  rime  in  the  sixth  and  seventh  lines  of  the  octave, 
e.g. 

Once  did  she  hold  the  gorgeous  east  hi  fee: 

And  was  the  safeguard  of  the  west:  the  worth 

Of  jVenice  did  not  fall  below  her  birth, 

Venice,  the  eldest  Child  of  Liberty. 

She  was  a  maiden  City,  bright  and  free; 

No  guile  seduced,  no  force  could  violate; 

And  when  she  took  unto  herself  a  Mate, 

She  must  espouse  the  everlasting  Sea. 

And  what  if  she  had  seen  those  glories  fade, 
Those  titles  vanish,  and  that  strength  decay; 
Yet  shall  some  tribute  of  regret  be  paid 
When  her  long  life  hath  reached  its  final  day: 
Men  are  we,  and  must  grieve  when  even  the  Shade 
Of  that  which  once  was  great,  is  passed  away. 

(On  the  Extinction  of  the  Venetian  Republic.) 

Though  a  number  of  other  individual  variations  from  the 
strict  type  may  be  found,  none  but  these  two  have  gone 

•According  to  Professor  Weeks  this  form  of  sestet  is  used  even 
more  frequently  in  English  sonnets  than  any  of  those  with  three  rimea. 

224 


SONNET 

beyond  the  stage  of  rare  experiments.  Fourteen  line  poems 
such  as  Shelley's  Ozymandias  may  not  strictly  be  called 
sonnets. 

The  three  sonnets  quoted  so  far  have  other  characteristics 
in  common  besides  a  similarity  of  rime  scheme.  A  good 
sonnet  should  have  its  thought  structure  expressed  in  periodic 
form;  the  last  line  should  be  a  climax.  Very  often  it  is 
composed  first.  There  should  be  some  sort  of  break  in  the 
flow  of  thought  at  the  beginning  of  the  sestet,  and  a 
slighter  one  at  the  fifth  line  of  the  octave.  The  theme  of 
the  perfect  sonnet  rises  and  develops  in  the  octave  and  falls 
to  a  close  in  the  sestet.  As  the  rime  scheme  is  a  little 
difficult  to  follow,  the  lines  should  not  run  over  very  much. 
The  iambic  rhythm  need  not  be  varied  greatly;  unusual 
rhythmic  changes  distract  the  attention  from  the  structure 
of  the  whole. 

Wordsworth,  whom  we  have  seen  made  some  change  in 
the  strict  form,  liked  the  effect  of  tying  the  octave  and  sestet 
together  by  having  the  break  in  thought  occur  in  the  middle 
of  the  ninth  line,  instead  of  at  the  end  of  the  eighth,  as  it 
does  in  the  sonnets  already  quoted.  An  example  of  Words- 
worth's use  in  this  respect,  is  the  famous  sonnet  on  the 
sonnet: 

Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's  narrow  room; 
And  hermits  are  contented  with  their  cells; 
And  students  with  their  pensive  citadels; 
Maids  at  the  wheel,  the  weaver  at  his  loom, 
Sit  blithe  and  happy;  bees  that  soar  for  bloom, 
High  as  the  highest  Peak  of  Furness-fells, 
Will  murmur  by  the  hour  in  foxglove  cells: 
In  truth  the  prison,  unto  which  we  doom 
Ourselves,  no  prison  isj  and  hence  for  me 
In  sundry  moods,  'twas  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  Sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground; 
Pleased  if  some  Souls  (for  such  there  needs  must  be) 
Who  have  felt  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty, 
Should  find  my  solace  there  as  I  have  found. 
225 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Milton,  in  his  sonnet  On  His  Blindness,  has  gained  an 
unusual  effect  by  phrasing  in  such  a  way  that  the  rime 
structure  is  obscured.  The  break  in  the  thought  occurs 
in  the  middle  of  the  eighth  line. 

When  I  consider  how  my  life  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide; 

"Doth  God  exact  day-labor  light  denied?" 

I  fondly  ask.    But  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts.    Who  best 

Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best.    His  state 

Is  kingly:    Thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest; 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

The  writer  of  sonnets  should  remember  that  all  these 
variations  from  the  norm  given  at  the  beginning  of  the 
chapter  are  for  the  purpose  of  aesthetic  effects,  and  are 
deliberately  introduced  by  the  poets.  They  are  not  cases 
of  poets  modifying  a  form  they  could  not  handle  success- 
fully. The  student  who  essays  a  sonnet  should  not  feel 
that  he  is  at  liberty  to  depart  from  the  standard  because 
he  finds  rimes  elusive.  He  had  better  try  something 
easier  than  writing  sonnets.  "No  Procrustes  has  obliged 
you  to  be  lopped  to  the  measure  of  this  bed:  Parnassus 
will  not  be  in  ruins  if  you  should  not  publish  a  son- 
net." 

The  Italian  sonnet  was  introduced  into  England  by  Sir 
Thomas  Wyatt.  The  Earl  of  Surrey,  whose  name  is  always 
associated  with  his,  devised  the  modification  which  became 
enormously  popular  with  the  Elizabethans.  The  best  sonnet 
sequences  (collections  of  sonnets  on  related  themes)  of 
this  type  are  those  of  Shakespeare,  Sidney,  Constable  and 

226 


SONNET 

Daniel.  The  form  is  still  much  used,  but  is  not  so  popular 
with  modern  poets  as  the  Italian. 

The  Elizabethan  sonnet  consists  of  three  iambic  pentameter 
quatrains  terminating  in  a  heroic  couplet,  e.  g. 

When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 

I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 

I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought, 

And  with  old  woes  new  wail  my  dear  time's  waste; 

Then  can  I  drown  an  eye  unused  to  flow, 

For  precious  friends  hid  in  death's  dateless  night, 

And  weep  afresh  love's  long-since-cancell'd  woe, 

And  moan  the  expense  of  many  a  vanished  sight. 

Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 

And  heavily  from  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er 

The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  "moan, 

Which  I  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  before: 

— But  if  the  while  I  think  on  thee,  dear  Friend, 

All  losses  are  restored  and  "sorrows  end. 

(Shakespeare:    Sonnet  XXX.) 

In  this  type  of  sonnet,  the  quatrains  should  each  express  a 
parallel  phase  of  thought,  leading  to  a  strongly  expressed 
conclusion  in  the  couplet.  The  special  emphasis  of  a  couplet 
coming  after  the  ear  is  accustomed  to  the  alteration  of 
quatrains,  gives  an  opportunity  for  a  very  marked  climax. 
This  is  the  great  advantage  of  the  Elizabethan  type. 

The  only  recognized  variations  of  this  type  are  Sidney's 
riming  the  second  quatrain  on  the  same  sounds  as  the 
first  (0606,  abab,  cdcd,  ee)  and  Spenser's  linking  the  three 
quatrains  together  thus:  abab,  bcbc,  cdcd,  ee,  for  example: 

What  guile  is  this,  that  those  her  golden  tresses 
She  doth  attire  under  a  net  of  gold, 
And  with  sly  skill  so  cunningly  them  dresses 
That  which  is  gold  or  hair  may  scarce  be  told? 
Is  it  that  men's  frail  eyes,  which  gaze  too  bold, 
She  may  entangle  in  that  golden  snare, 
And,  being  caught,  may  craftily  enfold 
Their  weaker  hearts,  which  are  not  well  aware? 
227 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Take  heed,  therefore,  mine  eyes,  how  ye  do  stare 

Henceforth  too  rashly  on  that  gilded  net, 

la  which  if  ever  ye  entrapped  are, 

Out  of  her  bands  ye  by  no  means  shall  get. 

Fondness  it  were  for  any,  being  free, 

To  covet  fetters,  though  they  golden  be. 

(Spenser:    Amoretti,  XXXVII.) 

These  two  variations  have  rarely  been  tried  by  modern  poets. 
Keats  in  his  secondfsonnet  on  Fame  ("How  Fevered  is  the  Man 
who  cannot  look1')  has  attempted  a  combination  of  the 
Elizabethan  with  the  Italian  form,  by  adding  to  two  quatrains 
one  of  the  Italian  sestets.  His  rune  scheme  is  abab, 
cdcd,  efeggf.  Many  ears  would  be  annoyed  by  the  interrup- 
tion of  eleven  lines  of  alternate  rimes  by  the  unexpected 
sound  g,  introduced  before  satisfying  /.  But  perhaps 
the  fact  that  this  seems  to  be  a  unique  experiment  is  the 
best  argument  against  imitating  it. 

When  one  compares  the  relative  advantages  of  the  two 
forms  of  sonnet,  the  easier  rime  scheme  of  the  Elizabethan 
at  once  suggests  itself.  To  this  may  be  added  the  emphasis, 
already  mentioned,  of  the  couplet  coming  after  quatrains. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  poet  more  rarely  finds  an  idea  that 
is  perfectly  fitted  to  the  Elizabethan  form;  the  necessity  of 
a  parallel  structure  in  the  three  quatrains  may  lead  him  to 
pad  the  thought. 

In  general,  the  sonnet  is  the  medium  for  reflective  and 
interpretative  poetry,  rather  than  for  simple  descriptive 
themes.  It  is  best  for  the  personally  intimate  and  subtle 
thought  of  a  moment,  a  theme  that  needs  no  long  develop- 
ment. This  may  take  the  form  of  an  elaborate  metaphor, 
or  it  may  be  a  general  truth  of  life  drawn  from  some  moment 
in  individual  experience.  The  best  appreciation  of  the  sonnet 
as  a  vehicle  of  poetic  thought  is  Rossetti's  own:3 

•William  Sharp's  Sonnets  of  this  Century  is  a  very  well  selected 
collection,  and  his  introductory  essay  on  the  sonnet  will  be  found  most 
interesting  and  very  useful  to  the  student  of  this  form. 

228 


SONNET 

A  sonnet  is  a  moment's  monument, — 

Memorial  from  the  Soul's  eternity 

To  one  dead  deathless  hour.    Look  that  it  be, 

Whether  for  lustral  rite  or  dire  portent, 

Of  its  own  arduous  fullness  reverent: 

Carve  it  in  ivory  or  in  ebony, 

As  Day  or  Night  may  rule;  and  let  Time  see 

Its  flowering  crest  impearled  and  orient. 

A  sonnet  is  a  coin:  its  face  reveals 

The  Soul, — its  converse,  to  what  Power  'tis  due: — 

Whether  for  tribute  to  the  august  appeals 

Of  Life,  or  dower  in  Love's  high  retinue, 

It  serve;  or  'mid  the  dark  wharf's  cavernous  breath, 

In  Charon's  palm  it  pay  the  toll  to  Death. 

(The  Sonnet.) 


229 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ODE 

An  ode  is  a  longer  lyric  with  some  development  of  its 
theme.  The  term  is  applied  properly  to  a  poem  written  in 
a  fervid  exalted  strain.  There  have  been  poems  called  odes, 
of  course,  that  do  not  meet  these  requirements;  Joseph 
Warton's  Ode  on  Shooting  and  Fergusson's  Ode  to  the  Bee 
are  on  themes  as  lacking  in  dignity  as  Gray's  amusing  Ode 
to  a  Favorite  Cat  Drowned  in  a  Tub  of  Goldfishes.  But  serious- 
ness and  elevation  in  subject-matter  are  generally  charac- 
teristic of  this  rather  vague  type  of  poem.  Furthermore, 
there  are  distinguished  poems  in  the  language  not  called  odes 
by  their  authors,  but  certainly  worthy  of  being  included  in 
this  category.  Such  are  Milton's  On  the  Morning  of  Christ's 
Nativity,  Coleridge's  Hymn  before  Sunrise,  and  Shelley's 
Hymnto  Intellectual  Beauty.  Certain  great  poems  like  Lycidas, 
Adonais,  and  In  Memoriam,  though  they  have  length,  de- 
velopment and  dignity,  are  more  properly  elegies1  than  odes, 
but  Tennyson's  Ode  on  the  Death  of  The  Duke  of  Wellington, 
because  of  its  encomiastic  character,  is  properly  included 
among  the  great  odes. 

From  these  remarks  it  becomes  evident  that  the  propriety 
of  terming  a  poem  an  ode  is  a  question  of  content  rather  than 
of  form.  To  go  further  into  the  matter  is,  therefore,  outside 
the  province  of  this  book;  we  have  merely  to  point  out  the 
verse  forms  that  have  been  associated  with  the  ode,  though 
all  but  one  of  these  forms  have  been  used  as  well  for  other 

1  No  special  chapter  of  the  book  has  been  devoted  to  dirges  and  elegies 
because  no  particular  forms  have  become  exclusively  associated  with 
poems  of  this  class.  The  elegiac  quatrain  and  the  In  Memoriam  stanza 
are  exemplified  in  Chapter  IX. 

230 


ODE 

types  of  lyrics.  A  classification  of  odes  from  the  point  of 
view  of  form  may  divide  them  into  three  groups, — regular 
stanzaic,  called  Sapphic,  or  Horatian  odes;  regular  strophic 
or  Pindaric  odes;  and  irregular  Pindaric  or  free  odes. 

As  these  names  imply,  the  ode  is  of  classical  origin.2  It 
was  cultivated  extensively  in  Italy  and  France  in  the  later 
Renaissance  period  and  introduced  into  England  by  Spenser. 
His  Epithalamium  is  our  first  English  ode.  His  example  was 
followed  by  Ben  Jonson  and  the  seventeenth  century  lyrists, 
Milton,  Herrick,  Randolph,  and  Marvell.  The  odes  of  these 
poets  are  of  the  type  called  Horatian,  but  except  in  Jonson's 
satiric  ode  To  Himself  on  the  failure  of  his  New  Inn  they 
have  nothing  in  common  with  Horace's  odes,  or  Carmina, 
except  that  they  are  written  in  a  regular  stanza  form.  The 
stanzas  are  of  the  types  much  used  in  the  seventeenth  century 
— tail-rimed  stanzas  composed  of  variously  arranged  long 
and  short  lines.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  century,  Cowley  in- 
troduced the  irregular  Pindaric.  He  had  during  the  Interreg- 
num, chanced  upon  a  copy  of  the  odes  of  Pindar  printed  with- 
out any  distinction  of  strophe,  antistrophe,  and  epode,  the 
characteristic  divisions  of  the  form.  As  Cowley  had  not 
sufficient  knowledge  of  Pindar's  meters  to  discover  that  these 
poems  have  the  most  exact  strophic  correspondences,  he 
thought  the  lines  varied  irregularly  without  any  definite 
scheme,  and  paraphrased  and  imitated  Pindar  according 
to  this  lawless  principle.  "His  idea  of  an  ode,  which  he 
impressed  with  such  success  upon  the  British  nation  that  it 
has  never  been  entirely  removed,  was  of  a  lofty  and  tem- 
pestuous piece  of  indefinite  poetry  conducted  without  sail 
or  oar  in  whatever  direction  the  enthusiasm  of  the  poet 
chose  to  take  it."3  This  formless  form  introduced  through  a 
misapprehension,  at  once  became  fashionable  and  has  ever 
since  remained  as  a  recognized  type  of  English  verse. 

2  For  more   detail  on  the  history  of  the  ode  see  Edmund   Gosse's 
introduction  to  his  collection,  English  Odes,  Lond.,  1889. 
1  Edmund  Gosse.  / 

231 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  later  seventeenth  century  turned  out  irregular  Pindar- 
ics in  great  numbers,  but  none  except  those  of  Cowley  himself 
and  Dryden  are  in  any  sense  contributions  to  English  poetry. 
Dryden's  great  odes,  Alexander's  Feast  and  St.  Cecilia's  Day, 
are  among  the  few  English  odes  written  to  be  sung  by  a  chorus 
on  public  occasions,  as  was  usually  the  case  with  poems  of 
this  class  among  the  Greeks. 

The  true  Pindaric  ode  had  been  tried  by  Jonson  in  his 
Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Sir  Lucius  Gary  and  Sir  H.  Morison, 
but  he  had  no  imitators.  To  Congreve  belongs  the  credit 
of  having  reintroduced  the  Pindaric  form,  but  there  was  no 
interest  shown  in  the  type  for  fifty  years,  until  Gray  wrote 
his  Progress  of  Poesy  and  the  Bard  in  correct  Pindarics. 
Later,  Collins  and  Akenside  followed  Gray's  example.  The 
romantics  of  the  early  nineteenth  century  found  the  two  other 
forms  of  the  ode  better  suited  to  their  genius,  and  with 
a  very  few  exceptions,  strict  Pindarics  were  neglected  again 
until  Swinburne  wrote  several  of  them,  notably  his  Birthday 
Ode  for  the  Anniversary  Festival  of  Victor  Hugo.  Since  the 
time  of  Gray,  all  three  types  of  ode  have  continued  to 
be  written.  Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Keats,  Tennyson  and 
Swinburne  have  all  contributed  distinguished  examples  to 
our  literature.  Lowell  in  his  Commemoration  Ode  has  given 
us  the  greatest  ode  written  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  Other 
American  poets  to  use  the  form  with  praiseworthy  ability 
are  Sidney  Lanier  and  William  Vaughn  Moody. 

The  relative  merits  of  the  three  ode  forms  are  easy  to  see. 
The  regular  Pindaric  with  its  strict  elaborate  structure  and 
widely  separated  correspondences,  has  the  severe  symmetry 
of  classical  architecture.  This  is  suitable  for  a  theme  like 
the  Progress  of  Poesy,  which  can  be  divided  into  stages  of 
development  which  fit  evenly  into  the  formal  strophic  divi- 
sions. In  this  rigid  limitation  hi  subject  matter  the  Pindaric 
form  is  like  that  of  the  ideal  sonnet.  The  Horatian  form, 
with  its  free  variation  as  to  stanza  type  and  number  of 
stanzas,  is  more  suitable  for  most  themes,  besides  being 

232 


ODE 

much  easier  to  handle.  The  irregular  or  free  ode  is  far  from 
being  as  easy  as  it  looks,  for  the  changes  in  structure  from 
line  to  line  and  stanza  to  stanza  should  not  be  haphazard, 
but  should  come  in  response  to  the  thought  changes  of  the 
developing  theme.  The  advantage  this  type  has  over  the 
other  two  is  that  the  stanzas  may  be  made  long  or  short  as 
the  thought  dictates;  there  need  be  no  temptation  toward 
padded,  discursive  thcught,  the  besetting  sin  of  ode  writers. 
On  the  other  hand,  this  unbridling  of  Pegasus  may  carry  the 
undisciplined  poet  into  what  he  feels  is  lyric  enthusiasm, 
but  is  in  reality  the  tenuous  region  of  wordy  vacuity.  The 
ode  has  always  been  a  rhetorical  form,  and  the  line  between 
good  and  bad  rhetoric  can  only  be  determined  by  experience 
and  disciplined  taste.  Perhaps  the  best  advice  to  the  aspiring 
singer  is  not  to  write  an  ode  if  he  can  help  it.  However,  if 
he  cannot,  here  are  a  few  examples  of  ways  in  which  it  has 
been  done  successfully. 

Stanzaic  Odes. — Horatian  and  Sapphic  are  terms  usually 
applied  vaguely  to  any  kind  of  stanzaic  ode,  the  classifica- 
tion being  based  on  form  rather  than  subject.  The  earliest 
and  one  of  the  greatest  stanzaic  odes  in  English  is  the 
Epithalamium  which  Spenser  wrote  for  his  own  wedding- 
day,  June  11,  1594.  The  first  of  its  twenty-three  stanzas 
follows: 

Ye  learned  sister,  which  have  often  times 
Been  to  the  aiding  others  to  adorn, 
Whom  ye  thought  worthy  of  your  graceful  rimes, 
That  even  the  greatest  did  not  greatly  scorn 
To  hear  their  names  sung  in  your  simple  lays, 
But  joyed  in  their  praise; 
And  when  ye  list  your  own  mishaps  to  mourn, 
Which  death,  or  love,  or  fortune's  wreck  did  raise, 
Your  string  could  soon  to  sadder  tenor  turn, 
And  teach  the  woods  and  waters  to  lament 
Your  doleful  dreariment: 
Now  lay  these  sorrowful  complaints  aside; 
233 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  having  all  your  heads  with  garlands  crowned, 

Help  me  my  own  love's  praises  to  resound; 

Ne  let  the  same  of  any  be  envied: 

So  Orpheus  did  for  his  own  bride, 

So  I  unto  myself  alone  will  sing; 

The  woods  shall  to  me  answer,  and  my  echo  ring. 

The  stanzas,  except  the  last,  contain  either  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen lines,  the  former  type  rimed  as  in  the  one  just  quoted, 
ababccbcbddeffeegg,  and  the  latter  with  an  additional  rime 
worked  in  near  the  end.  The  basic  meter  is  pentameter 
varied  usually  by  three  trimeters  and  a  final  hexameter. 
Though  the  stanzas  are  not  exactly  alike  in  this  respect — 
the  one  quoted,  for  instance,  containing  a  tetrameter — they 
all,  except  the  last,  end  with  a  hexameter  refrain  line.  This 
use  of  the  alexandrine  which  relates  the  Epithalamium 
stanza  to  the  Spenserian,  has  been  much  followed  by  subse- 
quent poets  in  the  construction  of  their  ode  stanzas.  Shelley's 
Ode  to  Liberty  is  in  general  modeled  after  the  Epithalamium. 
It  has  nineteen  stanzas  of  fifteen  lines  each,  with  the  runes 
arranged,  dbabcdddcecedee.  The  pentameter  is  interrupted 
by  tetrameters  and  an  alexandrine,  and  another  alexandrine 
concludes  each  stanza.  The  odes  of  Keats  are  none  of  them 
so  long  as  this,  but  they  are  all,  except  the  Ode  to  Psyche, 
formed  of  ten  or  eleven  line  stanzas  of  pentameter  with 
interwoven  rimes.  The  Ode  to  a  Nightingale  has  eight 
stanzas  rimed  ababcdecde;  the  eighth  line  is  always  a  tri- 
meter: 

My  heart  aches  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 

My  sense,  as  though  of  hemlock  I  had  drunk, 
Or  emptied  some  dull  opiate  to  the  drains, 

One  minute  past,  and  Lethe-wards  had  sunk: 
'Tis  not  through  envy  of  thy  happy  lot, 
But  being  too  happy  in  thy  Happiness, — 
That  thou,  light-winged  Dryad  of  the  trees, 

In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless, 
Singest  of  summer  in  full-throated  ease. 
234 


ODE 

In  his  other  well-known  odes,  To  a  Grecian  Urn,  To  Autumn, 
and  To  Melancholy,  Keats  made  slight  changes  in  the  order 
in  which  he  satisfied  the  runes  toward  the  ends  of  some  of 
his  stanzas.  In  this  he  was  perhaps  following  the  example 
of  Spenser  who,  as  we  have  seen,  did  not  make  all  his  stanzas 
exactly  correspond.  The  first  stanza  of  the  Grecian  Urn 
rimes  ababcdedce,  and  the  second,  ababcdeced.  One  wonders 
whether  there  is  anything  gained  by  thus  slightly  disappoint- 
ing the  ear  of  the  reader? 

Coleridge's  Ode  to  Tranquillity  is  of  a  different  type. 
The  four  stanzas  have  six  lines  of  tetrameter  followed  by  a 
pentameter  and  end  in  an  alexandrine : 

Tranquillity!    Thou  better  name 

Than  all  the  family  of  fame! 

Thou  ne'er  wilt  leave  my  riper  age 

To  low  intrigue,  or  factious  rage; 

For  oh!  Dear  child  of  thoughtful  truth, 

To  thee  I  gave  my  early  youth, 

And  left  the  bark,  and  blest  the  Steadfast  shore, 

Ere  yet  the  tempest  rose  and  scared  me  with  its  roar. 

One  of  the  finest  examples  of  stanzas  of  varying  meters  is 
Milton's  splendid  Nativity  Hymn.  This  is  made  up  of 
eight  lines  of  trimeter,  pentameter,  tetrameter,  and  a  final 
alexandrine.  The  rime  runs  aabccbdd,  for  example: 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres! 
Once  bless  our  human  ears 

If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so, 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time; 

And  let  the  bass  of  heaven's  deep  organ  blow; 
And  with  your  ninefold  harmony, 
Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

Shelley's  Skylark  has  stanzas  of  four  lines  of  trimeter — nor- 
mally trochaic — concluding  with  an  alexandrine:  (06066) 

235 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 

From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 

An  even  simpler  stanza  is  that  used  by  Marvell  in  his 
Horatian  Ode  upon  Cromwell's  Return  from  Ireland. 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear, 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear, 

Nor  hi  the  Shadows  sing 

His  numbers  languishing. 

And   Cowper's  Boadicea  is  composed  merely  of  trochaic 
tetrameter  quatrains. 

Collins's  much  admired  Ode  to  Evening  is  made  up  of 
unrimed  four  line  stanzas:4 

If  ought  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song, 

May  hope,  chaste  Eve,  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear, 

Like  thy  own  solemn  springs, 

Thy  springs  and  dying  gales. 

O  nymph  reserved,  while  now  the  bright-hair'd  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skirts 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed : 

Shelley's  Ode  to  the  West  Wind  is  also  unique  among  Odes 
in  its  form.  It  is  made  up  of  five  fourteen-line  sections, 
each  section  written  in  terza  rima  with  a  concluding  couplet. 
Evidently  then,  stanzaic  odes  may  be  written  in  almost 
any  form  that  pleases  the  poet.  Swinburne  has  exercised 
his  liberty  in  this  respect,  and  among  his  dozen  or  so  odes 
may  be  found  some  extremely  interesting  examples  in  the 
long  measures,  triple  rhythms,  and  difficult  rime  schemes  of 
which  he  is  so  great  a  master.  The  student  of  the  form 

*  For  an  elaborate  discussion  of  this  and  other  odes  of  Collins's  see 
W.  C.  Bronson's  Edition  of  Collins  in  the  "Athenaeum  Press  Series." 

236 


ODE 

should  not  neglect  the  odes  to  March,  to  England,  to  Eton, 
and  the  birthday  and  New- Year  odes  to  Victor  Hugo. 

Regular  Pindaric  Odes. — The  distinguishing  characteristic 
of  the  regular  Pindaric  form  is  the  threefold  division  into 
strophe,  antistrophe  and  epode.  These  represent  the  choral 
divisions  of  the  Greek  odes  on  which  the  English  were 
modeled.  Pindar's  odes  were  sung  to  the  accompaniment 
of  the  lyre,  or  lyre  and  flute,  with  some  sort  of  dignified 
dance;  during  the  singing  of  the  strophe  the  chorus  moved 
across  the  hall  or  temple,  moved  back  during  the  antistrophe, 
and  stood  still  at  the  epode.  The  strophe  and  antistrophe 
correspond  in  form,  but  the  epode  differs  from  them.  The 
forms  for  these  divisions  may  be  constructed,  at  the  will 
of  the  poet,  of  any  number  of  lines,  and  in  English  odes,  in 
any  meter  or  combination  of  meters.  No  two  of  Pindar's 
have  the  same  metrical  scheme.  His  strophes  are  made 
up  of  from  four  to  sixteen  lines,  combining  various  short 
and  long  meters.  The  English  Poets  have  carefully  rimed 
their  Pindaric  strophes,  but  usually  in  a  simpler  way  than 
the  complicated  interweaving  of  the  stanzaic  odes  of  Keats. 
Ordinarily  Pindaric  odes  are  long  enough  to  repeat  the 
arrangement  of  strophe,  antistrophe,  and  epode  several 
times,  thus  dividing  the  poem  into  a  number  of  grand 
divisions.  Pindar  has  an  ode  of  thirteen  of  these  divisions. 
Gray's  odes  have  but  three.  Each  time  the  strophic  arrange- 
ment is  repeated  it  is  in  exact  correspondence  with  the 
first.  The  larger  strophic  groups  correspond  to  the  general 
divisions  of  thought  in  the  progressively  developing  theme, 
but  poets  have  rarely  attempted  to  make  a  threefold  sub- 
division of  each  part  to  correspond  to  the  division  into 
strophe,  antistrophe,  and  epode. 

The  regular  Pindaric  is  somewhat  rare  in  English,  though 
two  or  three  of  them  happen  to  be  very  well  known.  Prob- 
ably one  reason  that  they  have  not  been  more  practiced  is 
that  the  labor  expended  in  their  composition  seems  useless, 
for  the  strophic  correspondences  are  so  far  apart  that  the 

237 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

reader  can  perceive  them  only  after  a  close  analysis.  The 
appreciation  of  the  structure  of  Gray's  Bard  in  which  the 
metrical  scheme  repeats  itself  after  an  interval  of  forty-eight 
lines,  is  an  intellectual  rather  than  an  aesthetic  pleasure. 
Gray  himself  said  that  the  strophic  divisions  should  not  be 
longer  than  nine  lines  each,  but  he  did  not  follow  out  his 
own  principle.  The  Greek  audiences  at  the  celebrations 
at  which  Pindar's  odes  were  sung,  had  the  advantage  over 
the  reader  of  these  English  imitations  in  that  the  repetition 
of  the  accompaniment  and  the  movements  of  the  chorus 
made  the  structure  easy  to  follow.  Thus  the  strict  Pindaric 
when  introduced  into  English  becomes  an  exotic  which 
cannot  be  acclimatized. 

There  is  scarcely  room  to  quote  a  whole  Pindaric  as  an 
example.  Here  are  the  concluding  strophe,  antistrophe,  and 
epode  of  Gray's  Progress  of  Poesy,  the  most  perfect  of  its 
type  in  English. 

III.    1 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer-gale, 

In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's6  Darling  laid, 

What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray'd, 

To  Him  the  mighty  Mother  did  unveil 

Her  awful  face:    The  dauntless  Child 

Stretch'd  forth  his  little  arms,  and  smiled. 

This  pencil  take  (she  said)  whose  colours  clear 

Richly  paint  the  vernal  year: 

Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  Boyl 

This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  Joy; 

Of  Horror  that,  and  thrilling  Fears, 

Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  Tears. 

III.    2 

Nor  second  He,B  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy, 
The  secrets  of  th'  Abyss  to  spy. 
He  pass'd  the  flaming  bound  of  Place  and  Time: 

*  Shakespeare.  *  Milton. 

238 


ODE 

The  living  Throne,  the  sapphire-blaze, 

Where  Angels  tremble,  while  they  gaze, 

He  saw,  but  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 

Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 

Behold  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 

Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  Glory  bear 

Two  Coursers  of  ethereal  race, 

With  necks  in  thunder  cloth'd,  and  long-resounding  pace. 

III.    3 

Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy  hovering  o'er 
Scatters  from  her  pictur'd  urn 

Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn. 
But  ah!   'tis  heard  no  more — 
Oh!  Lyre  divine,  what  daring  Spirit 
Wakes  thee  now?  tho'  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion, 
That  the  Theban  Eagle  bear 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 
Thro'  the  azure  deep  of  air: 
Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 
Such  forms,  as  glitter  hi  the  Muse's  ray 
With  orient  hues,  unborrow'd  of  the  Sun: 
Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate, 
Beneath  the  Good  how  far — but  far  above  the  Great. 

Gray's  other  Pindaric,  the  Bard,  is  romantic  in  theme,  but 
quite  as  severely  perfect  in  structure.  Its  strophic  divisions 
are  longer  than  those  just  quoted.  Collins  placed  the 
epodes  of  his  regular  Pindaric  odes  between  the  strophe  and 
the  antistrophe,  but  what  the  advantage  may  be  is  hardly 
apparent.  He  rimed  his  epodes,  which  are  longer  than 
Gray's,  in  couplets  or  quatrains.  His  short  ode  To  Mercy 
has  no  epode;  this  is  a  peculiarity  of  the  three  brief  pro- 
cessional odes  of  Pindar.  Shelley  understood  the  Pindaric 
form  so  imperfectly  that  his  Ode  to  Naples  begins  with  two 
epodes;  then  come  two  strophes,  four  antistrophes,  and  two 

239 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

concluding  epodes.  These  parts  he  arranged  with  corre- 
spondences among  themselves,  but  those  between  the  opening 
and  the  concluding  epodes  are  more  than  a  hundred  lines 
apart.  Swinburne's  Ode  on  The  Proclamation  of  The  French 
Republic  begins  with  six  difficult  rimed  strophes,  no  two 
with  the  same  structure,  followed  by  six  exactly  corresponding 
antistrophes,  and  ends  with  a  long  epode.  His  Athens,  an 
Ode  contains  a  hundred  lines  of  heptameter,  hexameter, 
and  octameter,  all  in  trochaic  movement.  These  two  odes 
are  the  longest  and  most  elaborately  wrought  regular  Pin- 
darics in  English. 

Irregular  Odes. — The  Cowleian  Pindaric,  or  free  ode,  has 
been  used  by  many  second-rate  poets  as  a  wholly  formless 
type  that  soars  vaguely  on,  each  line  length  and  rime  varying 
constantly  with  the  poet's  whim.  The  greatest  examples, 
however,  are  far  from  shapeless.  The  rimes  alternate  or  run 
in  couplets  for  short  stretches;  tail-rimes  occur  where  they 
may  reinforce  an  emphatic  sentence  ending;  the  majority 
of  the  lines  are  likely  to  be  in  one  basic  meter,  usually 
pentameter,  and  the  other  meters  are  felt  as  variants.  The 
variation  in  meter  should  coincide  usually  with  the  phrases 
of  the  thought;  that  is,  these  odes  have  very  few  run- 
on  lines.  If  the  lines  are  not  made  distinct  by  the  phrasing 
and  the  rime  scheme,  if  floating  lines  without  corresponding 
rimes  are  permitted  very  often,  the  ear  cannot  grasp  any 
impression  of  structure,  and  the  ode  will  sound  like  blank 
verse  that  occasionally  falls  into  free  verse. 

The  stanzas,  which  may,  of  course,  be  of  any  length, 
should  be  thought-paragraphs  which  may  be  led  to  a  climax 
by  reiterated  rime  and  by  a  last  line  which  is  longer  or  shorter 
than  the  preceding  lines.  We  have  already  seen  the  fre- 
quency with  which  stanzas  in  the  two  other  forms  of  the 
ode  end  in  alexandrines.  A  change  in  the  movement  of 
the  verse  through  a  single  stanza  may  be  a  means  of  empha- 
sizing some  new  aspect  of  the  theme. 

Evidently  the  principles  underlying  the  free  ode  cannot 

240 


ODE 

be  very  fixed;  therefore  criticism  can  have  no  firmer  basis 
than  individual  taste.  The  result  is  that  there  is  more 
difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  merits  of  the  free  odes  than 
of  any  other  class  of  poems  in  our  literature.  Not  even 
the  greatest  of  them  have  escaped  censure  from  some  critic 
of  recognized  judgment  and  taste. 

Some  poets  have  used  the  freedom  permitted  to  them  in 
the  ode  with  much  restraint.  They  have  written  odes  in 
one  consistent  meter  throughout,  and  merely  varied  the 
rime  scheme  and  the  length  of  the  stanza.  Collins,  who 
wrote  odes  of  all  three  general  types,  has  one  to  Manners 
that  is  written  wholly  in  tetrameter  couplets.  Campbell's 
To  Winter  is  in  tetrameter,  rimed  now  in  couplets  and  now 
in  quatrains.  And  Byron's  On  Venice  uses  pentameters 
divided  into  long  stanzas  of  varying  length  with  interwoven 
rimes.  The  best  known  free  odes,  however,  do  not  approach 
so  closely  any  single  fixed  form. 

Dryden's  For  St.  Cecilia's  Day  attempts  to  suggest  by 
changes  in  rhythm  and  meter  the  differe-nt  musical  instru- 
ments alluded  to  in  different  stanzas.  Except  for  the 
galloping  anapests  of  "The  trumpet's  loud  clangor"  there  is, 
of  course,  no  special  appropriateness,  but  the  changes 
give  each  new  thought  a  distinctive  character.  Dryden's 
Alexander's  Feast  or  T-he  Power  of  Music  is  written  on  the 
same  principle.  The  phrasing  in  both  these  celebrated 
odes  keeps  the  line  structure  very  clearly  defined.  Tetram- 
eter rather  than  pentameter  seems  to  be  the  basic  meter. 
The  rhetorical  character  of  their  swelling  refrains  and 
rather  obvious  music  is  appropriate  to  their  original  purpose, 
a  public  choral  rendition. 

Wordsworth's  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollec- 
tions of  Early  Childhood  is  generally  conceded  to  be  the  great- 
est of  English  odes.  In  this,  better  than  in  any  other,  one 
may  study  the  principle  of  the  thought  creating  the  form, 
rather  than  yielding  to  a  preconceived  form.  Here  are  a 
few  stanzas  of  which  this  is  especially  true: 

241 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

I 

There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 

To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream. 
It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore; — 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 

By  night  or  day, 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more. 

II 

The  Rainbow  comes  and  goes, 
And  lovely  is  the  Rose; 
The  Moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare; 
Waters  on  a  starry  night 
Are  beautiful  and  fair; 
The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth, 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  passed  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 

Ill 

Now  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song, 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief; 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong: 

The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep; 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong; 
I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountains  throng, 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay: 

Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  beast  keep  holiday; — 

Thou  child  of  joy, 

Shout  round  me,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  happy  shepherd-boy. 

242 


ODE 

V 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting: 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar: 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home: 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  hi  his  joy; 
The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended; 
At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

VI 

Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own; 

Yearnings  she  hath  hi  her  own  natural  kind, 

And,  even  with  something  of  a  mother's  mind, 
And  no  unworthy  aim, 
The  homely  nurse  doth  all  she  can 

To  make  her  foster-child,  her  inmate  Man, 
Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known, 

And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came. 

In  these  stanzas,  the  phrases  correspond  to  the  lines  of  the 
verse  except  where  a  complete  phrase  would  make  a  line 
longer  than  a  pentameter.  Lines  longer  than  pentameters  are 
permitted  to  come  only  at  the  conclusion  of  a  stanza  (e.  </., 
stanzas  I,  II,  III,  IX).  The  pentameter  is  felt  as  the  line 
from  which  the  other  meters  vary.  The  famous  fifth  stanza 
is  exceptionally  fine  in  the  effective  alternation  of  meters 
in  perfect  correspondence  to  the  thought.  It  should  be  noted, 

243 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

too,  that  the  rimes  always  come  on  emphatic  words.  The 
riming  of  the  sixth  stanza  is  striking  in  its  climactic  arrange- 
ment; the  riming  words  of  the  last  two  lines  satisfy  sounds 
that  have  held  the  ear  in  suspense  for,  respectively,  six  and 
four  whole  lines.  Two  marked  changes  in  movement  occur 
in  the  irregularity  of  the  fourth  stanza  which  occasionally 
runs  into  triple  rhythm;  and  in  the  distinct  trochaic  character 
of  the  tenth  which  adds  a  lightness  appropriate  to  the  happy 
thought — compensation  for  the  loss  which  the  nine  preceding 
stanzas  have  discussed. 

Another  of  the  great  odes  of  the  century,  Tennyson's 
On  the  Death  of  The  Duke  of  Wellington,  has  not  the  frequent 
change  in  meter  and  rime  of  Wordsworth's.  The  constant 
use  of  the  same  rime  for  three  successive  lines  gives  the 
insistent  emphasis  of  a  tolling  bell.  The  dirge-like  effect 
is  most  marked  in  the  fifth  stanza  by  using  such  riming  sounds 
as,  toll'd,  mold,  gold,  bold,  fold,  knoll'd,  roll'd,  old;  boom,  doom, 
claim,  name,  blame,  same,  frame;  long,  song.  The  trochaic 
and  iambic  movements  are  constantly  mixed  through  the 
poem. 

Choric  Odes. — One  more  type  of  ode,  related  in  its  free 
structure  to  that  just  discussed,  is  the  ode  imitated  from  the 
choric  passages  of  the  Greek  dramatists.  The  choruses  in 
Milton's  Samson  Agonistes  are  the  greatest  examples  of  this 
type  in  English.  They  have  been  among  the  most  admired 
of  Milton's  achievements  in  verse.  They  are  composed  in 
meters  that  vary  from  line  to  line;  stretches  of  trimeter  or 
tetrameter  are  interspersed  with  pentameters  and,  more 
rarely,  hexameters.  The  rhythm  is  duple,  but  with  a  free- 
dom that  admits  trisyllabic  feet  more  often  than  is  Milton's 
practice  elsewhere.  Occasional  rimes  are  introduced  both  for 
ornament  and  for  a  sense  of  structure.  Here  is  a  passage 
near  the  end  of  the  poem : 

But  he,  though  blind  of  sight, 
Despised,  and  thought  extinguished  quite, 
With  inward  eyes  illuminated, 
244 


ODE 

His  fiery  virtue  roused 

From  under  ashes  into  sudden  flame, 

And  as  an  evening  dragon  came, 

Assailant  on  the  perched  roosts, 

And  nests  in  order  ranged, 

Of  tame  villatic  fowl,  but  as  an  eagle 

His  cloudless  thunder  bolted  on  their  heads. 

So  Virtue,  given  for  lost, 

Depressed  and  overthrown  as  seemed, 

Like  that  self-begotten  bird 

In  the  Arabian  woods  embost, 

That  no  second  knows 

And  lay  erewhile  a  holocaust, 

From  out  her  ashy  womb  now  teemed, 

Revives,  reflourishes,  then  vigorous  most 

When  most  unactive  deemed; 

And,  though  her  body  die,  her  fame  survives, 

A  secular  bird,  ages  of  lives. 

Shelley  introduced  choric  odes  in  his  Prometheus  Unbound. 
These  philosophic  lyrics  sung  by  the  choruses  of  hours  and 
spirits  have  a  more  crystallized  form  than  the  Miltonic  free 
ode.  Shelley  preferred  to  keep  a  regular  rhythm  in  each  ode 
and  a  definite  stanza  and  rime  scheme.  The  wonderful 
choruses  of  Swinburne's  Atalanta  in  Calydon  are  also  stanzaic 
odes,  not  in  the  free  rhythms  of  the  Greek  dramatists. 

Finally,  there  are  a  number  of  lyrics  written  on  the  principle 
of  the  irregular  short  choric  ode,  but  not  long  enough  to  be 
properly  called  odes.  Milton  has  given  us  examples  of  this 
sort  in  his  short  poems  On  Time  and  At  a  Solemn  Music. 
Matthew  Arnold's  Strayed  Reveller  is  a  lyric  dialogue  written 
probably  with  a  consciousness  of  the  Miltonic  and  Shelleyian 
developments  of  the  Greek  choric  ode.  It  is  perhaps  better 
classified  as  vers  libre.  Here  are  the  two  concluding  stanzas: 

Ah,  cool  night- wind,  tremulous  stars! 
Ah  glimmering  water —        » 
Fitful  earth-murmur — 
Dreaming  woods! 
245 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Ah,  golden-hair'd  strangely  smiling  Goddess, 
And  Thou,  prov'd  much  enduring, 
Wave-toss'd  Wanderer! 
Who  can  stand  still? 
Ye  fade,  ye  swim,  ye  waver  before  me. 
The  cup  again  I 
Faster,  faster, 
0  Circe  Goddess, 
Let  the  wild,  thronging  train, 
The  bright  procession 
Of  eddying  forms, 
Sweep  through  my  soul! 

Of  the  same  general  type  are  the  short  irregular  odes  of 
Coventry  Patmore.  He  and  Matthew  Arnold  are  really 
the  forerunners  of  the  present  school  of  free-verse  writers. 


246 


CHAPTER  XV 
FRENCH  FORMS 

During  the  last  three  or  four  decades  a  number  of  artificial 
French  verse  forms  have  been  naturalized  by  English  and 
American  poets.  Those  that  have  secured  a  definite  place 
in  our  poetry  are  the  ballade,  the  rondel,  the  rondeau,  the 
triolet,  the  villanelle,  and  the  sestina.  Most  of  these  forms 
had  their  origin  in  medieval  Provence  and  were  extensively 
practiced  by  the  French  poets  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
centuries.  Chaucer,  Gower,  and  their  immediate  suc- 
cessors tried  to  develop  one  or  two  of  them  in  English,  but 
even  at  that  period  of  the  language,  when  the  laws  of 
rime  were  similar  to  those  of  French,  these  exotics  scarcely 
flourished.  There  were  also  isolated  attempts  at  their  use 
by  Sidney,  Drummond,  Charles  Cotton,  and  a  certain  obscure 
Patrick  Carey,  but  these  are  merely  rare  curiosities.  It 
should  be  added  that  the  popularity  of  a  late  eighteenth 
century  political  satire  came  near  to  introducing  the  rondeau 
almost  a  hundred  years  before  the  decade  in  which  it  actually 
became  a  much  used  form. 

In  the  seventies  a  group  of  young  poets,  Andrew  Lang, 
W.  E.  Henley,  Edmund  Gosse,  and  Austin  Dobson,  more 
or  less  independently  began  experimenting  with  all  these 
artificial  French  forms.  They  were  led  to  them  not  only 
by  a  sense  of  style  characteristic  of  the  decade,  but  also, 
doubtless,  by  a  common  interest  in  French  poetry,  which, 
under  the  leadership  of  Theodore  De  Banville,  was  reviving 
with  much  charm  and  grace  the  practice  of  these  older 
forms.  In  1872  appeared  Andrew  Lang's  Lays  and  Lyrics  of 
Old  France.  Five  years  later,  Mr.  Gosse  wrote  an  article 
for  the  Cornhill  Magazine  (July,  1877),  "A  Plea  for  Certain 

247 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Exotic  Forms  of  Verse,"  and  this  was  followed  by  Austin 
Dobson's  "Note  on  Some  Foreign  Forms  of  Verse,"  appended 
to  W.  D.  Adams'  anthology,  Latter  Day  Lyrics  (1878).  By 
1888  the  French  forms  had  been  given  such  a  place  by 
contemporary  verse-writers  that  Gleeson  White  published 
a  fine  collection  of  these  forms  called  Ballades  and  Rondeaus, 
with  an  introductory  essay  on  the  history  of  each  type. 
Among  the  authors  represented  in  the  volume  are,  besides 
the  four  already  mentioned,  Swinburne,  Robert  Bridges, 
William  Sharp,  Arthur  Symons,  Richard  Le  Gallienne,  John 
Payne,  Brander  Matthews,  Clinton  Scollard,  and  H.  C. 
Bunner. 

These  forms  originated  at  a  period  when  a  preference  for 
style  in  literature  was  paramount,  and  have  been  popular 
only  during  such  periods.  Some  of  them  are  mere  exercises 
in  ingenuity  rather  than  vehicles  for  thought.  They  are 
all  of  them  difficult  to  do  well,  but  the  peculiar  qualities 
they  require  pique  one  to  attempt  them.  Most  of  them  are 
suited  chiefly  for  witty  and  satiric  themes  and  for  society 
verse,  where  lightness,  grace,  and  elegance  of  form  are 
desired.  They  should  have  the  graceful  correctness  of 
drawing-room  manners,  where  art  plays  about  arbitrary 
forms,  felicitously  avoiding  the  stiffness  of  too  apparent 
restraint.  Many  of  these  forms  present  no  greater  difficul- 
ties than  the  sonnet,  but  as  yet  no  very  great  poem  has  been 
written  in  them  in  English.  We  admire  ballades  and  rondeaus 
for  the  skill  and  grace  which  they  display,  but  do  not  expect 
in  them  any  revelation  of  deep  poetic  feeling.  Mr.  Austin 
Dobson,  who  handles  them  with  an  exquisite  facility,  has 
said  of  the  forms:  "What  is  moderately  advanced  for 
some  of  them  (by  the  present  writer  at  least),  is  that  they 
may  add  a  new  charm  of  buoyancy — a  lyric  freshness — to 
amatory  and  familiar  verse  already  too  much  condemned  to 
faded  measures  and  outworn  cadences.  Further,  upon 
assumption  that  merely  graceful  or  tuneful  trifles  may 
sometimes  be  written  (and  even  read),  that  they  are  admir- 

248 


FRENCH  FORMS 

able  vehicles  for  the  expression  of  trifles  or  jeux  d'esprit."1 
The  two  general  difficulties  in  writing  verses  of  these 
types  lie  in  the  unusual  number  of  rimes  they  require  and 
in  the  peculiar  use  of  the  refrain,  a  feature  common  to 
them  all.  Before  essaying  one  of  these  poetic  trifles  the 
student  of  verse  should  read  over  the  principles  of  English 
rime  in  Chapter  VI  and  compare  them  with  the  practice  of 
some  French  poet.  He  will  see  that  a  villanelle  or  a  chant 
royal  is  no  trifle  when  written  in  English.  In  English  there 
are  not  only  fewer  rimes  than  in  French,  but  words  like 
reed:  read,  and  fate:  fete  are  not  allowable  as  rimes  in  English, 
nor  will  wake:  awake:  rewake  do,  as  they  might  in  French. 
If  the  poet  capitulates  to  the  difficulties  of  his  form  and 
admits  identical  sounds  he  should  conceal  his  fault  by 
separating  such  words  as  far  as  possible  in  the  poem.  The 
point  about  the  use  of  the  refrain  is  that  it  should  be  brought 
in  each  time  with  a  subtle  skill  that  makes  its  recurrence 
seem  inevitable.  And  not  only  that;  it  is  an  added  grace 
to  give  the  refrain  a  slightly  different  meaning  by  some  change 
in  punctuation  (the  words  remaining  unchanged)  each  time 
it  is  introduced. 

Before  going  on  to  explain  the  special  types  of  these  forms 
it  may  be  well  to  advise  the  student  against  introducing 
variations  of  his  own  in  the  rime  scheme  or  stanza  form. 
The  types  have  become  fixed;  if  you  don't  like  them  or  cannot 
conform  to  them  as  they  are,  let  them  alone.  Make  use  of 
forms  that  suit  you  better,  but  do  not  compromise  by  writing 
a  poem  which  just  falls  short  of  being  a  ballade  or  a  villanelle. 
"This  is  an  example  of  that  vague  'poetical  license'  which 
incompetent  workmen  are  so  fond  of  falling  back  upon,  and 
which  in  reality  does  not  exist.  If  a  sculptor  sets  himself 
to  carve  a  face  out  of  marble  there  is  no  sculpturesque 
license  that  permits  him  to  stick  on  a  plaster  nose  because 
he  finds  it  too  difficult  to  chisel  the  marble  outline,  or 
because  he  has  carelessly  cut  too  deep  into  the  substance. 

1  Preface  to  Latter  Day  Lyrics,  ed.  W.  D.  Adams,  Lond.,  1878. 

249 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

It  is  only  in  poetry  that  persons  without  an  instinct  for 
form  are  allowed  to  play  tricks  of  this  kind,  and  it  cannot  be 
too  distinctly  said  that  they  are  not  allowed  to  do  this  except 
by  the  licentious  laws  of  their  own  making."2 

The  BaUade. — The  ballade  in  the  course  of  its  history  has 
varied  much  in  structure,  but  there  are  only  two  generally 
recognized  types  in  use  today.  One  is  composed  of  three 
eight-line  stanzas  followed  by  a  four-line  envoy,  all  on  three 
rimes;  the  other,  of  three  ten-line  stanzas  followed  by  a 
five-line  envoy — all  on  four  rimes.  Each  stanza  of  the 
eight-line  type  is  rimed  ababbcbc,  and  the  envoy,  bcbc, 
The  refrain  is  the  last  line  of  the  first  stanza  repeated  as 
the  last  line  of  the  other  two  stanzas  and  of  the  envoy. 
No  deviation  from  this  scheme  is  permissible  in  the  best 
usage.  The  recognized  scheme  for  the  ten-line  type  is 
ababbccdcd  for  the  stanza  and  ceded  for  the  envoy.  Two 
other  schemes  that  have  been  used,  though  rarely,  for  ten- 
line  stanzas  are  dbabbcdccd  and  abaabccdcd.  Henley  tried 
one  or  two  experiments  with  the  rime  scheme  but  they  have 
not  been  imitated. 

The  ballade  is  written  oftenest  in  the  iambic  or  the  ana- 
pestic  movement,  but  the  trochaic,  the  dactylic  and  the 
mixed  movements  are  also  employed  for  it.  Tetrameter 
is  the  commonest  meter  for  the  eight-line  ballade  and  pen- 
tameter for  the  ten-line,  but  the  poets  have  observed  no 
strict  rule  in  this  matter.  Ballades  in  trimeter  and  even 
dimeter  are  not  unusual,  and  Swinburne  was  fond  of  writing 
them  in  hexameter.  The  envoy,  following  a  medieval 
convention,  is  addressed  to  some  great  person — lady,  prince, 
queen.  Andrew  Lang  has  one  addressed  to  Satan. 

Most  English  ballades  are  written  on  light  and  delicate 
themes,  or,  very  often  satiric  and  comic.  Frangois  Villon, 
however,  the  famous  "poet,  housebreaker,  and  thief,"  used 
the  ballade  for  his  bitter  complaints  on  the  life  of  the  poor, 

1 E.  W.  Gosse:  "A  Plea  for  Certain  Exotic  Forms  of  Verse."  Corn- 
hitt  Magazine,  vol.  36,  p.  71  (1877). 

250 


FRENCH  FORMS 

as  well  as  for  his  religious  themes.  His  one  truly  great 
poem,  the  Ballade  of  Dead  Ladies,  made  very  familiar 
through  Rossetti's  famous  translation,3  set  the  fashion  of 
writing  ballades  on  the  theme  of  sic  transit  gloria  mundi. 
Fine  examples  of  this  sort  are  Henley's  Ballade  of  Dead 
Actors,  John  Payne's  Ballade  of  Past  Delights,  and  Clinton 
Scollard's  Where  are  the  Ships  of  Tyre? 

The  ballade  form  is  undoubtedly  the  most  important  of 
those  discussed  in  this  chapter.  It  has  already  been  used 
with  considerable  variety  in  theme  and  is  doubtless  capable 
of  still  other  uses.  Its  difficulties  and  restrictions  make  it 
an  excellent  kind  of  verse  in  which  to  practice  for  a  facile 
technique  in  riming. 

The  amateur  will  soon  discover  that  rime  is  certainly  the 
rudder  of  this  sort  of  verse.  He  will  find  it  a  great  help  to 
select  for  his  rimes  sounds  like  y  or  ine,  which  are  plentiful 
in  English.  M.  Lemaitre  is  quoted  by  Andrew  Lang4  as 
saying: — 

"The  poet  who  begins  a  ballade  does  not  know  very  exactly 
what  he  will  put  into  it.  The  rime,  and  nothing  but  the 
rime,  will  whisper  things  unexpected  and  charming,  things 
he  never  would  have  thought  of  but  for  her,  things  with 
strange  and  remote  relations  to  each  other,  all  united  in 
the  disorder  of  a  dream.  Nothing,  indeed,  is  richer  in  sug- 
gestion than  the  strict  laws  of  these  difficult  pieces;  they 
force  the  fancy  to  wander  afield,  hunting  high  and  low;  and 
while  she  seeks  through  all  the  world  the  foot  that  can  wear 
Cinderella's  slipper,  she  makes  delightful  discoveries  by  the 
way." 

A  delicate  and  facile  handling  of  the  ballade  with  eight- 
line  stanzas,  in  iambic  tetrameter,  is  Andrew  Lang's  To 
Theocritus  in  Winter: 

3  This  translation,  though  an  exquisite  poem,  does  not  follow  the  form 
of  the  original.    It  was  made  before  the  interest  in  these  French  forms 
had  begun  in  England. 

4  Longman's  Magazine,  April,  1887. 

251 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Ah,  leave  the  smoke,  the  wealth,  the  roar 
Of  London,  and  the  bustling  street, 
For  still,  by  the  Sicilian  shore 
The  murmur  of  the  Muse  is  sweet. 
Still,  still,  the  suns  of  summer  greet 
The  mountain-grave  of  Helike, 
And  shepherds  still  their  songs  repeat 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea. 

What  though  they  worship  Pan  no  more 
That  guarded  once  the  shepherd's  seat, 
They  chatter  of  their  rustic  lore, 
They  watch  the  wind  among  the  wheat: 
Cicalas  chirp,  the  young  lambs  bleat, 
Where  whispers  pine  to  cypress  tree; 
They  count  the  waves  that  idly  beat 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea. 

Theocritus;  Thou  canst  restore 
The  pleasant  years,  and  over-fleet; 
With  Thee  we  live  as  men  of  yore, 
We  rest  where  running  waters  meet: 
And  then  we  turn  unwilling  feet 
And  seek  the  world — so  must  it  be 
We  may  not  linger  in  the  heat 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea. 

ENVOY 

Master,  when  rain,  and  snow,  and  sleet 
And  northern  winds  are  wild,  to  thee 
We  come,  we  rest  in  thy  retreat, 
Where  breaks  the  blue  Sicilian  sea. 

An  admirable  example  of  the  ten-line  form,  in  iambic  pen- 
tameter, is  Swinburne's  A  Ballade  of  Frangois  Villon,  Prince 
of  All  Ballad-Makers: 

Bird  of  the  bitter  bright  gray  golden  morn 
Scarce  risen  upon  the  dusk  of  dolorous  years, 

First  of  us  all  and  sweetest  singer  born 
Whose  far  shrill  note  the  world  of  new  men  hears. 
252 


FRENCH   FORMS 

Cleave  the  cold  shuddering  shade  as  twilight  clears; 
When  SOUP  new-born  put  off  the  old  world's  attire 
And  felt  its  tune  on  her  changed  lips  expire, 

Writ  foremost  on  the  roll  of  them  that  came 
Fresh  girt  for  service  of  the  latter  lyre, 
Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name; 

Alas  the  joy,  the  sorrow,  and  the  scorn, 
That  clothed  thy  life  with  hopes  and  sins  and  fears, 

And  gave  thee  stones  for  bread  and  tares  for  corn 
And  plume  plucked  gaol-birds  for  thy  starveling  peers 
Till  death  clipt  close  their  flight  with  shameful  shears; 

Till  shifts  came  short  and  loves  were  hard  to  hire, 

When  lilt  of  song  nor  twitch  of  twangling  wire 
Could  buy  thee  bread  or  kisses;  when  light  fame 

Spurned  like  a  ball  and  haled  through  brake  and  briar, 
Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name; 

Poor  splendid  wings  so  frayed  and  soiled  and  torn; 
Poor  kind  wild  eyes  so  dashed  with  light  quick  tears; 

Poor  perfect  voice,  most  blithe  when  most  forlorn, 
That  rings  athwart  the  sea  whence  no  man  steers, 
Like  joy-bells  crossed  with  death-bells  in  our  ears; 

What  far  delight  has  cooled  the  fierce  desire 
That  like  some  ravenous  bird  was  strong  to  tire 
On  that  frail  flesh  and  soul  consumed  with  flame, 

But  left  more  sweet  than  roses  to  respire. 
Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name? 

ENVOY 

Prince  of  sweet  songs  made  out  of  tears  and  fire, 
A  harlot  was  Thy  nurse,  a  God  Thy  sire; 

Shame  soiled  Thy  song,  and  song  assoiled  Thy  shame. 
But  from  Thy  feet  now  death  has  washed  the  mire, 
Love  reads  out  first  at  head  of  all  our  quire, 

Villon,  our  sad  bad  glad  mad  brother's  name. 

Ballade  with  Double  Refrain. — A  type  of  ballade  occurring 
occasionally  is  the  ballade  with  double  refrain.  This 
differs  from  the  usual  eight-line  stanza  variety  in  that 

253 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

the  fourth  line  in  each  stanza,  as  well  as  the  eighth,  is 
identical.  This  line  also  recurs  as  the  second  of  the  envoy. 
This  naturally  requires  a  different  rime  scheme  for  the 
envoys — bbcc,  instead  of  bcbc.  Henley's  Ballade  of  Youth 
and  Age  shows  the  type  at  its  finest.  The  double  refrain 
is  especially  adapted  to  this  theme.  The  verse  is  tetram- 
eter, in  the  trochaic-dactylic  movement. 

Spring  at  her  height  on  a  morn  at  prime, 

Sails  that  laugh  from  a  flying  squall, 
Pomp  of  harmony,  rapture  of  rime — 

Youth  is  the  sign  of  them,  one  and  all. 

Winter  sunsets  and  leaves  that  fall, 
An  empty  flagon,  a  folded  page, 

A  tumble-down  wheel,  a  tattered  ball — 
These  are  a  type  of  the  world  of  Age. 

Bells  that  clash  in  a  gorgeous  chime, 

Swords  that  clatter  in  outsets  fall, 
The  words  that  ring  and  the  fames  that  climb — 

Youth  is  the  sign  of  them,  one  and  all. 

Old  hymnals  prone  in  a  dusty  stall, 
A  bald  blind  bird  in  a  crazy  cage, 

The  scene  of  a  faded  festival — 
These  are  a  type  of  the  world  of  Age. 

Hours  that  strut  as  the  heirs  of  time, ' 

Deeds  whose  rumour's  a  clarion-call, 
Songs  where  the  singers  their  souls  sublime — 

Youth  is  the  sign  of  them,  one  and  all. 

A  staff  that  rests  in  a  nook  of  wall, 
A  reeling  battle,  a  rusted  gage, 

The  chant  of  a  nearing  funeral — 
These  are  a  type  of  the  world  of  Age. 

ENVOY 

Struggle  and  sacrifice,  revel  and  brawl — 
Youth  is  the  sign  of  them,  one  and  all. 
A  smouldering  hearth  and  a  silent  stage — 
These  are  a  type  of  the  world  of  Age. 
254 


FRENCH   FORMS 

The  most  musical  ballade  in  English  is  undoubtedly 
Swinburne's  famous  Ballade  of  Dreamland.  Of  light  amusing 
themes  in  this  form  good  instances  are  Andrew  Lang's 
Ballade  of  the  Book-Hunter  and  Ballade  of  the  Royal  Game  of 
Golf. 

Double  and  Triple  Ballade. — The  double  ballade  consists 
of  six  eight-line  or  ten-line  stanzas  on  the  same  set  of  rimes. 
This  may  be  written  with  or  without  the  envoy.  Examples 
of  eight-line  stanza  double  ballades  are  Henley's  Double 
Ballade  of  Life  and  Fate  and  Double  Ballade  of  the  Nothing- 
ness of  Things,  and  John  Payne's  on  the  Singers  of  the  Time. 
Mr.  Brian  Hooker's  admirable  poem,  a  Double  Ballade  of 
Friendship5  is  perhaps  the  finest  serious  ballade  written  in 
America.  It  uses  the  ten-line  stanza  form.  The  Triple 
Ballade  is  a  rare  tour  de  force.  Mr.  Alfred  Noyes's  charming 
Triple  Ballade  of  Old  Japan  carries  the  rime  scheme  through 
its  nine  eight-line  stanzas  only  with  the  aid  of  a  number  of 
Japanese-sounding  names  in  -o.  One  sound  used  eighteen 
times,  one  used  ten  (counting  the  refrain  but  once)  and  one 
used  thirty-six,  taxes  the  resources  of  the  English  language 
rather  severely! 

Chant  Royal. — The  chant  royal  is  a  development  of  the 
ballade.  Mr.  Gosse  calls  it  "The  ne  plus  ultra  of  legitimate 
difficulty  in  the  construction  of  a  poem."  It  consists  of 
five  eleven-line  stanzas  with  refrain  and  a  five-line  envoy. 
The  usual  rime  scheme  is  ababccddede  for  the  stanza  and 
ddede  for  the  envoy.  The  difficulty  of  constructing  a 
poem  of  sixty-one  lines  with  only  five  rimes  makes  the  form 
almost  impossible  in  English.  The  creature  is,  in  fact,  ex- 
tremely rare;  it  usually  inhabits  only  books  on  prosody.6 

The  chant  royal  was  used  by  the  French  poets,  notably 
Clement  Marot,  for  dignified,  heroic  themes.  In  English 
it  should  be  attempted  only  in  iambic  pentameters. 

5  In  Poems,  N.  Y.,  1914. 

"Gleeson  White's  collection  contains  seven  examples,  probably  all 
there  were  in  existence  at  the  time. 

255 


Rondel,  Rondeau  and  Roundel. — The  rondel,  rondeau,  and 
roundel  are  allied  forms,  the  distinction  of  which  is  purely 
modern.  A  fixed  and  definite  form  has  been  given  to  each 
name  by  the  usage  of  the  recent  poets  who  have  introduced 
them.  The  rondel  has  fourteen  lines  with  two  rimes. 
It  is  divided  into  three  stanzas  and  uses  the  two  opening 
lines  of  the  first  as  a  refrain  recurring  as  the  closing  lines 
of  the  second  and  third  stanzas.  The  scheme  is  ABba, 
abAB,  abbaAB.  (The  capital  letters  indicate  the  refrain.) 
All  varieties  of  meter  and  movement  may  be  used.  Here 
is  an  example  by  John  Cameron  Grant: 

How  is  it  you  and  I 

Are  always  meeting  so? 
I  see  you  passing  by 

Which  ever  way  I  go. 

I  cannot  say  I  know 
The  spell  that  draws  us  nigh 
How  is  it  you  and  I 

Are  always  meeting  so? 

Still  Thoughts  to  Thoughts  reply, 

And  whispers  ebb  and  flow; 
I  say  it  with  a  sigh 

But  hah"  confessed  and  low, 
How  is  it  you  and  I 

Are  always  meeting  so? 

As  the  repetition  of  the  refrain  so  often  in  so  few  lines  may 
be  felt  monotonous,  some  poets  have  omitted  either  the  A 
or  the  B  line  of  the  last  stanza.  Mr.  Austin  Dobson  uses 
a  slightly  different  rime  arrangement  from  the  one  just 
described.  His  is  ABba,  abAB,  abbaA,  for  example,  his 
Wanderer: 

Love  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling, — 
The  old,  old  Love  that  we  knew  of  yore; 
We  see  him  stand  by  the  open  door, 

With  his  great  sad  eyes  and  his  bosom  swelling. 
256 


FRENCH  FORMS 

He  makes  as  though  in  our  arms  repelling, 
He  fain  would  lie  as  he  lay  before; — 

Love  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling, — 
The  old,  old  Love  that  we  knew  of  yore; 

Ah!  who  shall  help  us  from  over-spelling, 
That  sweet  forgotten,  forbidden  lore; 
E'en  as  we  doubt  in  our  hearts  once  more, 

With  a  rush  of  tears  to  our  eyelids  welling, 

Love  comes  back  to  his  vacant  dwelling. 

Rondeau.  The  rondeau  is  a  modification  of  the  rondel 
form.  It  became  so  popular  in  France  during  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV  that  writing  rondeaux  was  as  usual  a  polite 
accomplishment  as  sonneteering  had  been  in  the  sixteenth 
century.  Voiture's  name  is  particularly  associated  with 
its  cultivation.  In  English  it  has  been  used  more  than 
any  other  of  these  artificial  forms  except  the  ballade.  It 
consists  of  thirteen  lines  divided  into  three  stanzas,  uses 
two  rimes,  and  has  an  unrimed  refrain  added  after  the 
eighth  and  thirteenth  lines.  This  refrain  is  the  first  half 
of  the  opening  line,  or  often  merely  the  first  word.  The 
scheme  varies,  but  the  most  used  is  aabba,  aab  (refrain), 
aabba  (refrain).  It  is  in  the  rondeau  especially  that  the 
knack  of  introducing  the  refrain  in  a  slightly  different,  or 
even  punning  sense,  each  time,  is  an  accomplishment  to 
be  sought  for.  The  rondeau  is  usually  written  in  iambic 
tetrameter  or  pentameter.  Here  are  two  examples: 

Her  china  cup  is  white  and  thin; 
A  thousand  tunes  her  heart  has  been 

Made  merry  at  its  scarlet  brink; 

And  in  the  bottom,  painted  pink, 
A  dragon  greets  her  with  a  grin. 

The  brim  her  kisses  loves  to  win; 
The  handle  is  a  manikin, 
Who  spies  the  foes  that  chip  or  chink 
Her  china  cup. 
257 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Muse,  tell  me  if  it  be  a  sin: 

I  watch  her  lift  it  past  her  chin 
Up  to  the  scarlet  lips  and  drink 
The  Oolong  draught,  somehow  I  think 

I'd  like  to  be  the  dragon  in 

Her  china  cup. 
(Frank  Dempster  Sherman:    Her  China  Cup.) 

The  gods  are  dead?    Perhaps  they  are;  Who  knows? 

Living  at  least  in  Lempriere  undeleted, 
The  wise,  the  fair,  the  awful,  the  jocose, 

Are  one  and  all,  I  like  to  think,  retreated 
In  some  still  land  of  lilacs  and  the  rose. 
Once  high  they  sat,  and  high  o'er  earthly  shows 

With  sacrificial  dance  and  song  were  greeted. 
Once  .  .  .  long  ago:    but  now  the  story  goes, 
The  gods  are  dead. 

It  must  be  true.    The  world  a  world  of  prose, 

Full-crammed  with  facts,  in  science  swathed  and  sheeted, 
Nods  in  a  stertorous  after-dinner  doze. 
Plangent  and  sad,  in  every  wind  that  blows 
Who  will  may  hear  the  sorry  words  repeated — 
The  gods  are  dead. 

(W.  E.  Henley:    Gods  are  Dead.) 

The  rime  scheme  here  varies  from  the  type,  but  keeps  to 
the  principle  of  but  two  rimes.  Mr.  Gosse,  however,  has 
written  some  fine  rondeaux  that  use  four  rimes,  abbaabba 
(refrain),  cddcc  (refrain).  Notice  that  he  runs  the  first 
two  stanzas  together: 

Beside  the  stream  and  hi  the  alder  shade, 
Love  sat  with  us  one  dreamy  afternoon, 
When  nightingales  and  roses  made  up  June, 

And  saw  the  red  light  and  the  amber  fade 

Under  the  canopy  the  willows  made, 
And  watched  the  rising  of  the  hollow  moon, 
And  listened  to  the  water's  gentle  tune, 

And  was  as  silent  as  she  was,  sweet  maid, 
Beside  the  stream. 
258 


FRENCH  FORMS 

Till  with,  "Farewell,"  he  vanished  from  our  sight, 
And  in  the  moonlight  down  the  glade  afar 
His  light  wings  glimmered  like  a  falling  star; 
Then  ah;  She  took  the  left  path,  I  the  right, 
And  now  no  more  we  sit  by  noon  or  night 
Beside  the  stream. 

(Edmund  Gosse:    Lovers'  Quarrel.) 

Another  form  of  rondeau,  used  by  Francois  Villon,  has  but 
ten  lines.  It  occurs  but  little  in  English.  Mr.  Dobson's 
Rose  and  In  Vain  To-Day  are  examples.  The  scheme  is 
abbaab  (refrain),  abba  (refrain). 

Roundel.  The  roundel  is  apparently  Swinburne's  develop- 
ment of  the  rondeau.  He  has  shown  of  what  flexibility 
even  such  an  artificial  form  is  capable  in  the  hands  of  a 
master  of  the  technique  of  verse.  His  Century  of  Roundels 
is  a  collection  of  these  slight  poems  in  a  great  variety  of 
meters,  movements,  and  themes.  His  form  aba  (refrain), 
bab,  aba  (refrain),  has  been  adopted  by  a  number  of  poets. 
The  refrain,  as  in  the  rondeau,  is  the  first  half  of  the  open- 
ing line,  or  the  first  word;  but  unlike  the  refrain  in  the 
rondeau,  it  is  rimed  with  the  second  line  of  the  poem.  Here 
are  three  of  Swinburne's: 

The  wind's  way  in  the  deep  sky's  hollow 
None  may  measure,  as  none  can  say 
How  the  heart  in  her  shows  the  swallow 
The  wind's  way. 

Hope  nor  fear  can  avoid  to  stay 

Waves  that  whiten  on  wrecks  that  wallow, 

Times  and  seasons  that  weave  and  slay. 

Life  and  love,  till  the  strong  night  swallow 
Thought  and  hope  and  the  red  last  ray, 
Swim  the  water  of  years  that  follow 
The  wind's  way. 

(The  Way  of  the  Wind.) 
Past  as  music  fades  that  shone 
While  its  life  might  last; 
259 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

As  a  song-bird's  shadow  flown 
Past; 

Death's  reverberate  blast 
Now  for  music's  lord  has  blown 
Whom  Thy  love  held  fast. 

Dead  Thy  King  and  void  his  throne; 

Yet  for  grief  at  last 
Love  makes  music  of  his  own 

Past. 

(A  Dead  Friend,  VII.) 

The  heavenly  bay,  ringed  round  with  cliffs  and  moors, 
Storm-stained  ravines,  and  crags  that  lawns  inlay, 
Soothes  as  with  love  the  rock  whose  guard  secures 
The  heavenly  bay. 

O  friend,  shall  time  take  ever  this  away, 
This  blessing  given  of  beauty  that  endures, 
This  glory  shown  us,  not  to  pass  but  stay: 

Though  sight  be  changed  for  memory,  love  ensures 
What  memory  changed  by  love  to  sight,  would  say — 
The  word  that  seals  forever  mine  and  yours 
The  heavenly  bay. 

(In  Gvernsay,  I.) 

Triokt. — The  triolet  is  an  old  form  that,  unlike  these 
others,  seems  not  to  have  varied  since  its  invention  in  the 
thirteenth  century.  Strangely  enough  this  slight  form  was 
used  in  Old  French  for  serious  verse,  but  the  wits  of  the 
Hotel  Rambouillet  found  it  particularly  adapted  to  epi- 
gram and  satire.  In  English  it  has  been  employed  only  for 
light  shafts  of  wit  or  for  graceful  compliment.  It  consists 
of  eight  lines  in  some  short  meter,  usually  in  anapestic 
movement,  and  has  two  rimes.  The  first  line  is  repeated 
as  the  fourth,  and  the  first  two  as  the  seventh  and  eighth. 
The  rimes  run  ABaAabAB.  (The  capitals  indicate  the 
refrain.)  The  fr-rime  is  usually  feminine. 

260 


FRENCH   FORMS 

Though  triolets  seem  very  easy  to  write,  good  ones  are 
really  rare.  The  refrain  should  have  charm  or  cleverness 
in  itself  to  bear  repetition.  The  fifth  and  sixth  lines  should 
contain  a  thought  which  leads  to  the  introduction  of  the 
refrain  with  a  slight  surprise  at  its  new  turn.  This  is  the 
only  way  the  triolet  may  gain  climax.  The  refrain  repeated 
with  exactly  the  same  meaning  gives  the  disappointing 
effect  of  a  "Limerick"  with  first  and  last  lines  identical. 
This  new  turn  is  hard  to  get  with  so  little  room  in  which 
to  prepare  for  it,  but  it  is  worth  trying  for.  The  advantage 
of  the  triolet  is  its  apparent  artlessness  and  spontaneity. 
Mr.  Gosse  says  of  it:  "It  is  charming;  nothing  can  be  more 
ingenuously  mischievous,  more  playfully  sly,  than,  this  tiny 
trill  of  epigrammatic  melody,  turning  so  simply  on  its 
own  innocent  axis."  The  three  following  fulfill  successfully 
the  requirements  of  the  triolet. « 

When  first  we  met,  we  did  not  guess 
That  Love  would  prove  so  hard  a  master; 

Of  more  than  common  friendliness 

When  first  we  met  we  did  not  guess. 

Who  could  foretell  the  sore  distress, 
This  irretrievable  disaster, 

When  first  we  met? — we  did  not  guess 
That  Love  would  prove  so  hard  a  master. 

(Robert  Bridges.) 

Rose  kissed  me  to-day, 

Will  she  kiss  me  to-morrow? 
Let  it  be  as  it  may, 

Rose  kissed  me  to-day. 
But  the  pleasure  gives  way 

To  a  savor  of  sorrow; — 
Rose  kissed  me  to-day, — 

Will  she  kiss  me  to-morrow? 

(Austin  Dobson.) 

I  saw  her  shadow  on  the  grass 
That  day  we  walked  together, 
261 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Across  the  field  where  the  pond  was 
I  saw  her  shadow  on  the  grass. 
And  now  I  sigh  and  say,  Alas; 

That  e'er  in  summer  weather 
I  saw  her  shadow  on  the  grass 

That  day  we  walked  together. 

(Arthur  Symons.) 

Villanelle. — The  viUanette,  as  usually  written  now,  either 
in  French  or  English,  follows  the  model  of  Jean  Passerat's 
famous  example,  J'ay  perdu  ma  tourtereUe.  It  is  composed 
of  nineteen  lines  arranged  in  five  three-line  stanzas  and 
an  envoy,  and  has  two  rimes.  Each  stanza  is  rimed  aba, 
and  the  envoy,  abaa.  The  first  and  third  lines  of  the  first 
stanza  are  used  as  the  refrain,  alternating  as  the  third  line 
of  each  successive  stanza  and  finally  closing  the  envoy  as  a 
couplet.  It  is  written  in  short  meters  with  iambic  or  anapes- 
tic  movement.  This  is  a  difficult  form,  suitable  particularly 
for  themes  that  circle  about  one  thought.  It  has  always 
been  associated  chiefly  with  pastoral  subjects,  but  John 
Davidson  in  his  Grub  Street  has  put  the  form  to  more  serious 
use. 

On  her  hand  she  leans  her  head, 
By  the  banks  of  the  busy  Clyde; 

Our  two  little  boys  are  hi  bed. 

The  pitiful  tears  are  shed, 

She  has  nobody  by  her  side; 
On  her  hand  she  leans  her  head. 

I  should  be  working;  instead 

I  dream  of  my  sorrowful  bride, 
And  our  two  little  boys  in  bed. 

Were  it  well  if  we  four  were  dead? 

The  grave  at  least  is  wide. 
On  her  hand  she  leans  her  head. 

She  stares  at  the  embers  red; 
She  dashes  the  tears  aside 
And  kisses  our  boys  in  bed. 
262 


FRENCH  FORMS 

"God  give  us  our  daily  bread; 

Nothing  we  ask  beside. " 
On  her  hand  she  leans  her  head; 
Our  two  little  boys  are  in  bed. 

Other  good  examples  of  the  villanelle  are  Henley's  A  Dainty 
Thing's  the  Villanelle,  and  Austin  Dobson's  On  a  Nankin 
Plate. 

Sestina. — The  sestina  is  a  form  of  extraordinary  and 
ingenious  difficulty,  a  difficulty  not  of  rimes,  as  with  the 
double  ballade  or  chant  royal,  but  of  even  more  rigid  restric- 
tion. It  was  the  invention  of  the  celebrated  troubadour 
Arnaut  Daniel,  but  through  its  cultivation  by  Dante  and 
Petrarch  has  come  to  be  an  Italian  form  rather  than  French. 
Though  it  is  no  more  difficult  to  write  in  English  than  in 
French  or  Italian,  its  extremely  arbitrary  complexity  has 
appealed  to  but  few  of  our  poets. 

The  sestina  has  six  stanzas  of  six  lines  each  and  ends  with 
a  tercet.  The  six  end  words  of  the  first  stanza  are  repeated 
in  each  of  the  others,  but  in  a  fixed  order,  different  in  each 
stanza.  If  we  represent  the  end  words  of  the  first  stanza 
by  the  first  six  digits,  the  following  table  will  indicate  the 
terminal  word  order  of  the  sestina: 

First      Stanza  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6 

Second        "  6,  1,  5,  2,  4,  3 

Third          "  3,  6,  4,  1,  2,  5 

Fourth        "  5,  3,  2,  6,  1,  4 

Fifth  "  4,  5,  1,  3,  6,  2 

Sixth  "  2,  4,  6,  5,  3,  1 

The  lines  of  the  concluding  tercet  end  with  the  words  repre- 
sented by  2,  4,  6,  and  use  the  remaining  words  1,  3,  5,  either 
near  the  beginning  or  in  the  middle  of  the  lines. 

It  is  evident  that  no  end  word  occurs  in  the  same  place 
in  any  two  stanzas  of  the  poem,  and  that  the  last  word  of 
each  stanza  is  the  first  end  word  of  the  next.  The  sestina 
is  usually  unrimed,  but  the  words  may  be  chosen  so  that 

263 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

they  rime  as  follows  in  the  odd  stanzas,  abaabb;  the  even 
stanzas  will  then  rime,  babbaa. 

One  admires  a  poem  written  in  a  form  so  complex  as  this, 
more  for  its  ingenuity  than  for  its  thought.  It  requires  a 
poet  of  real  facility  to  make  a  sestina  that  is  anything  more 
than  a  clever  solution  of  a  word  puzzle.  Swinburne's  7 
Saw  My  Soul  at  Rest  Upon  a  Day,  a  poem  in  this  form, 
has  more  music  than  meaning.  His  delight  in  overcoming 
metrical  difficulties  even  led  him  to  construct  a  double 
sestina,  but  few  people  can  endure  its  monotony,  which 
eddies  through  twelve  twelve-line  stanzas.  Writing  sestinas 
— even  simple  ones — is  wasted  ingenuity,  for  no  reader  can 
tell  without  careful  analysis  whether  the  poem  conforms 
exactly  to  the  rules.  Kipling  has  surmounted  the  difficulties 
and  produced  in  his  Sestina  of  the  Tramp-Royal  a  poem 
as  well  as  a  puzzle.  To  write  realistic  diction  in  a  form 
associated  with  the  ethereal  courtly  love  of  Provence  and 
sonneteering  Italy  is  amusingly  characteristic  of  the  modern- 
ity of  the  author.  Kipling  has  departed  from  the  strict 
rule  in  the  use  of  the  end  words  in  the  tercet.  He  has 
placed  the  words  represented  by  1,  3,  5,  as  terminals,  and 
2,  4,  6  as  mid-line  words.  Arnaut  Daniel  has  these  sets 
reversed.  The  poem  follows: 

Speakin'  in  general,  I  'ave  tried  'em  all — 
The  'appy  roads  that  take  you  o'er  the  world, 
Speakin'  in  general,  I  'ave  found  them  good 
For  such  as  cannot  use  one  bed  too  long, 
But  must  get  'ence,  the  same  as  I  'ave  done, 
An'  go  observin'  matters  till  they  die. 

What  do  it  matter  where  or  'ow  we  die, 
So  long  as  we've  our  'ealth  to  watch  it  all — 
The  different  waya  that  different  things  are  done, 
An'  men  an'  women  lovin'  in  this  world; 
Takin'  our  chances  aa  they  come  along, 
An'  when  they  ain't,  pretendin'  they  are  good. 
264 


FRENCH   FORMS 

In  cash  or  credit — no,  it  aren't  no  good; 
You  'ave  to  'ave  the  'abit  or  you'd  die, 
Unless  you  lived  your  life  but  one  day  long, 
Nor  didn't  prophesy  nor  fret  at  all, 
But  drew  your  tucker  some'ow  from  the  world, 
An'  never  bothered  what  you  might  ha'  done. 

But,  Gawd,  what  things  are  they  I  'aven't  done; 
I've  turned  my  'and  to  most,  an'  turned  it  good, 
In  various  situations  round  the  world — 
For  'im  that  doth  not  work  must  surely  die; 
But  that's  no  reason  man  should  labor  all 
'Is  life  on  one  same  shift,  life's  none  so  long. 

Therefore,  from  job  to  job  I've  moved  along, 

Pay  couldn't  'old  me  when  my  time  was  done, 

For  something  in  my  'ead  upset  me  all, 

Till  I  'ad  dropped  whatever  'twas  for  good, 

An',  out  at  sea,  be'eld  the  dock-light  die, 

An'  met  my  mate  the  wind  that  tramps  the  world; 

It's  like  a  book,  I  think,  this  bloomin'  world, 
Which  you  can  read  and  care  for  just  so  long, 
But  presently,  you  feel  that  you  will  die 
Unless  you  get  the  page  you're  readin'  done, 
An'  turn  another — likely  not  so  good; 
But  what  you're  after  is  to  turn  'em  all. 

Gawd  bless  this  world;  whatever  she  'ath  done — 
Excep'  when  awful  long — I've  found  it  good. 
So,  write,  before  I  die,  "  'E  liked  it  all:" 

A  few  other  of  these  artificial  French  forms,  the  rondelet, 
the  lai,  the  kyrielle,  the  virelay,  and  the  pantoum  are  repre- 
sented in  English  by  so  few  examples  that  it  hardly  seems 
worth  while  to  describe  them  here.  The  reader  who  is 
interested  is  referred  to  the  article  of  Mr.  Gosse  and  the 
collection  of  Mr.  Gleeson  White,  mentioned  at  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter. 


265 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TROCHAIC  VERSE1 

The  trochaic  movement  occurs  in  sporadic  lines  through- 
out all  our  early  verse,  but  it  was  not  definitely  recognized 
as  a  special  norm  until  the  Elizabethan  period.  Then  it 
came  into  use  only  in  short  lyrics.  Its  place  in  English 
has  always  been  inferior  to  that  of  the  iambic  movement. 
The  best  reason  for  this  is  probably  to  be  found  in  the 
genius  of  the  language  itself. 

The  great  majority  of  phrases  in  English — and  the  phrase 
is  the  unit  of  rhythm  in  prose — begin  with  an  article,  preposi- 
tion, or  conjunction,  which  in  our  pronunciation  is  merged 
into  the  word  which  follows,  so  that  the  phrase  has  a  rising 
movement.  It  is,  of  course,  true  that  most  dissyllabic 
words  have  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable,  so  that  these 
words  considered  individually  have  a  trochaic  rhythm,  but 
when  they  are  used  as  part  of  a  phrase  they  lose  this  in- 
dividual rhythm  and  become  an  element  in  the  phrase 
rhythm.  For  example,  the  word  shooting  has  a  falling  move- 
ment when  it  is  pronounced  alone,  but  the  phrase  a  shooting 
star  has  a  rising  movement.2  The  fact  that  most  English 
phrases  begin  as  this  one  does,  with  an  unstressed  syllable, 
makes  a  rising  movement  the  commonest  English  movement. 
Trochaic  verse  is  therefore  less  natural  in  our  language  than 
iambic. 

A  direct  reversal   of   these   conditions   obtains   in   the 

1  See  also  Chapter  VI. 

1  If,  however,  a  phrase  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  trochaic  words  in 
succession,  particularly  when  they  are  set  off  by  commas,  they  maintain 
a  trochaic  rhythm  which  may  override  the  iambic  rhythm  with  which 
the  phrase,  or  line,  started,  e.  g. 

On  lion,  dragon,  wyvern,  griffon,  swan 
266 


TROCHAIC  VERSE 

Bohemian  language.  Bohemian  has  no  article,  and  its 
proclitic  prepositions  are  so  completely  merged  with  the 
words  with  which  they  are  associated  that  they  lose  their 
syllabic  value.  The  result  is  that  most  phrases  in  Bohemian 
have  a  falling  rhythm,  and  the  genius  of  the  language  may 
be  said  to  be  trochaic.  And  Bohemian  verse,  as  a  con- 
sequence, is  as  naturally  trochaic  as  English  verse  is  iambic. 

Whatever  may  be  the  reason  for  the  preference,  the  fact 
remains  that  our  verse  has  been,  and  still  is,  chiefly  iambic. 
As  a  result,  the  possibilities  of  the  trochaic  movement  have 
been  but  slightly  developed.  We  do  not  find  in  it  the 
rhythmic  subtleties  which  succeeding  generations  of  poets 
have  imparted  to  the  iambic. 

We  may  study  the  characteristics  of  the  trochaic  move- 
ment in  the  song  of  Juno  and  Ceres  in  the  Tempest  (IV,  1) : 

Honor,  riches,  marriage-blessing, 
Long  continuance,'  and  increasing, 
Hourly  joys  be  still  upon  you! 
Juno  sings  her  blessing  on  you. 

Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty, 
Barns  and  garners  never  empty; 
Vines  with  clustering  bunches  growing; 
Plants  with  goodly  burthen  bowing; 
Spring  come  to  you  at  the  farthest 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest! 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  you; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 

There  is  a  lightness  and  apparent  rapidity3  to  this  passage 
that  verse  in  the  same  meter  and  rhythm  but  with  an 

8  Tests  made  in  a  psychological  laboratory  have  shown  that  trochaic 
rhythm  is  actually  more  rapid  than  iambic.  The  time  relation  between 
the  unstressed  syllable  and  the  stressed  in  iambic  verse  is  as  1:2;  in 
trochaic  verse,  as  1:1  J£. 

(A.  S.  Hurst  and  J.  McKay:  "Experiments  on  Time  Relations  of  Poetic 
Measures,"  University  Toronto  Studies,  Psychological  Series,  vol.  1, 1900.) 

267 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

iambic  movement,  does  not  bear.  This  lightness  makes 
the  movement  better  for  short  lyrics  than  for  any  extended 
work,  where  the  choppy  effect  and  limited  variation  produce 
great  monotony.  Few  readers  can  enjoy  many  pages  of 
Longfellow's  Hiawatha,  or  Porter's  translation  of  the 
Kalevala  at  one  time. 

The  characteristic  trochaic  effect  is  especially  marked 
in  the  passage  just  quoted  from  Shakespeare,  because  every 
line  has  a  light  ending.  Light  endings  are  not  so  common 
in  rimed  trochaic  verse  as  masculine  endings — for  example, 
the  trochaic  parts  of  Milton's  L1  Allegro  or  the  following 
from  Fletcher: 

Weep  no  more,  nor  sigh,  nor  groan, 
Sorrow  calls  no  time  that's  gone: 
Violets  plucked,  the  sweetest  rain 
Makes  not  fresh  nor  grow  again. 
Trim  thy  locks,  look  cheerfully; 
Fate's  hid  ends  eyes  cannot  see. 
Joys  as  winged  dreams  fly  fast, 
Why  should  sadness  longer  last? 
Grief  is  but  a  mound  to  woe; 
Gentlest  fair,  mourn,  mourn  no  moe. 

Though  the  direct  attack,4  used  throughout,  gives  these 
lines  an  undoubted  trochaic  movement,  the  ending  on 
stressed  syllables  makes  the  passage  approach  nearer  an 
iambic  effect  than  the  Shakespearian  song  does.  Besides 
this,  the  introduction  of  extra  stresses  in  lines  like, 

|  Fate's  hid  |  ends  fives  I  cannot  |  see, 
and 

|  Gentlest  |  fair,  m6urn,  |  mourn  no  |  moe 

makes  them,  apart  from  their  context,  somewhat  ambiguous 
in  movement.  Furthermore,  compare  the  phrasing  of  the 

4  See  above,  p.  21. 

268 


TROCHAIC   VERSE 
two  passages.     In  the  Shakespearian  song,  the  two  lines, 

Honor,  riches,  marriage-blessing, 
and 

Barns  and  garners  never  empty, 

are  trochaic  throughout  in  phrasing;6  and  lines  that  end 
in  phrases  like  foison  plenty,  bunches  growing,  burthen  bowing, 
and  end  of  harvest  have  strong  trochaic  support.  On  the 
other  hand,  many  lines  in  the  song  from  Fletcher  end  with 
such  iambic  phrases,  as,  nor  sigh  nor  groan,  no  time  that's 
gone,  the  sweetest  rain,  nor  grow  again,  a  mound  to  woe — all 
in  conflict  with  the  movement  set  up  at  the  beginning  of 
each  line.  A  studied  agreement  of,  or  conflict  of,  movement 
and  phrasing  is  therefore  as  important  in  producing  effects 
in  trochaic  verse  as  it  is  in  iambic. 

All  the  methods  of  varying  iambic  verse  can  be  used  also 
with  trochaic,  but  more  sparingly,  for  this  movement  is 
much  harder  to  keep  steady.  Light  stresses  are  used  by 
poets  in  about  the  same  proportion  as  in  iambic  verse,  but 
they  seem  to  stand  out  with  greater  prominence  in  trochaic 
verse — as  is  very  evident  when  the  verse  is  read  aloud. 
This  conspicuousness  of  syllables  which  are  usually  slurred 
in  speech  gives  a  much  more  artificial  effect  to  trochaic 
verse.  In  a  passage  like  the  following  from  Hiawatha,  this 
effect  is  particularly  noticeable: 

I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you 

"From  the  forest  and  the  prairies, 

From  the  great  lakes  of  the  Northland, 

From  the  land  of  the  0  jib  ways, 

From  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 

From  the  mountains,  moors,  and  fenlands." 

It  may  be,  of  course,  that  such  passages  are  better  read 
by  obliterating  all  the  light  stresses,  thus  turning  the  verse 

6  See  above,  p.  78. 

269 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
into  dimeter  with  a  quadruple   rhythm,   e.  g.   instead  of, 

1 1  should  |  answer,  |  I  should  |  tell  you, 
we  might  read, 

I  should  |  answer,  I  should  |  tell  you. 

In  the  last  two  lines  of  the  following  passage  of  trochaic 
verse,  however,  where  such  a  change  in  rhythmical  pattern 
is  hardly  possible,  the  effect  of  the  light  stresses  is  awkward: 

|  And  we  |  met:  You  |  knew  not  |  me, 

Mistress  of  your  joys  and  fears; 
Held  my  hand  that  held  the  key 

|  Of  the  |  treasure  |  of  your  |  years, 
|  Of  the  |  fountain  |  of  your  |  tears. 

(Alice  Meynell:    An  Unmasked  Festival.) 

Before  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  trochaic 
movement  was  used  only  in  tetrameter  or  trimeter,  but  since 
that  time  it  has  been  developed  in  the  longer  meters.  Tenny- 
son, Browning,  Swinburne,  and  the  later  poets  used  it  fre- 
quently in  hexameter,  heptameter,  and  octameter.  In 
fact,  for  these  long  meters  it  has  come  to  be  quite  as  much 
used  as  the  iambic  movement. 

Browning's  One  Word  More  is  almost  the  unique  example 
in  English  of  the  trochaic  movement  used  in  unrimed 
pentameter.  This  singularly  beautiful  poem  gains  its  effect 
with  remarkably  little  variation. 

Raphael  made  a  century  of  sonnets, 
Made  and  wrote  them  in  a  certain  volume 
Dinted  with  the  silver-pointed  pencil 
Else  he  only  used  to  draw  Madonnas: 
These  the  world  might  view — but  one,  the  volume. 
Who  that  one,  you  ask?    Your  heart  instructs  you. 
Did  she  live  and  love  it  all  her  life-time? 
Did  she  drop,  his  lady  of  the  sonnets, 
Die,  and  let  it  drop  beside  her  pillow 
Where  it  lay  in  place  of  Raphael's  glory, 
270 


TROCHAIC  VERSE 

Raphael's  cheek  so  duteous  and  so  loving — 
Cheek,  the  world  was  wont  to  hail  a  painter's, 
Raphael's  cheek,  her  love  had  turned  a  poet's? 

There  is  frequent  use  of  light  stress  here,  but  never  more 
than  one  to  a  line;  the  phrasing  never  runs  beyond  the  line. 
No  line  in  the  whole  poem  begins  with  an  unstressed  syllable, 
lest  the  movement  be  turned  into  iambic.  The  variety  is 
gained  wholly  by  shifting  the  position  of  the  light  stresses 
and  by  a  constant  interplay  of  phrasing  with  the  movement. 
The  fact  that  all  the  cesuras  in  this  quotation  come  after 
a  stressed  syllable  modifies  the  choppiness  that  often  charac- 
terizes trochaic  verse. 

In  this  form,  Browning  does  not  venture  on  any  marked 
variation  from  the  normal  until  the  twenty-ninth  line  of  his 
poem: 

Guido  Reni  dying,  all  Bologna 

|  Cried,  and  the  |  world  cried  |  too,  |  "Ours,  the  |  treasure!" 

Suddenly,  as  rare  things  will  it  vanished. 

Here,  the  running  of  the  phrase  over  into  the  next  line,  and 
the  introduction  of  a  trisyllabic  and  a  monosyllabic  foot, 
almost  destroy  the  trochaic  movement,  but  the  third 
line  steadies  it  again.  Later  on,  when  the  movement  is 
firmly  established,  the  poet  ventures  to  introduce  lines 
with  two  extra  stresses,  e.  g. 

|  Not  the  |  moon's  same  |  side  b&rn  |  late  in  |  Florence. 

Swinburne  and  Tennyson  have  used  longer  meters  in  trochaic 
movement  with  great  success.  The  longer  the  line,  however, 
the  less  distinctively  trochaic  it  tends  to  become,  unless 
strongly  supported  by  phrasing.  The  reason  for  this  is, 
doubtless,  that  a  movement,  when  once  set  up,  becomes 
merely  subjective,6  and  the  English  ear,  being  more  accus- 
tomed to  iambic  movement,  instinctively  tries  to  hear  the 

8  See  above,  p.  72. 

271 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

line  as  iambic  if  it  is  possible  to  do  so.  The  fact  that  in 
these  longer  meters  a  line  may  start  trochaically  and 
apparently  end  iambically,  thus  adding  a  new  source  of 
variety,  may  account  for  the  preference  of  recent  poets 
for  the  trochaic  movement  in  the  longer  meters. 
Here  is  an  example  of  this  movement  in  lines  of  six  feet: 

Age  on  age  thy  mouth  was  mute,  thy  face  was  hidden, 
And  the  lips  and  eyes  that  loved  thee  blind  and  dumb, 

Song  forsook  their  tongues  that  held  thy  name  forbidden, 
Light  their  eyes  that  saw  the  strange  God's  kingdom  come. 

(Swinburne:    Last  Oracle.) 

Note  that  alternate  lines  have  light  endings,  that  there  is 
but  one  light  stress  (beginning  line  2),  and  that  the  phrasing 
is  chiefly  iambic.  The  danger  of  upsetting  trochaic  move- 
ment by  phrasing  is  exemplified  in  the  following  passage 
from  the  same  poem: 

Old  and  younger  Gods  are  buried  or  begotten 

|  From  up-  |  rising  |  to  down-  |  setting  |  of  the  |  sun, 

Risen  from  eastward,  fallen  to  westward  and  forgotten, 
And  their  springs  are  many,  but  their  end  is  one. 

If,  in  reading  the  second  line,  one  slurs  the  three  light  stresses, 
the  line  will  run  with  a  very  untrochaic  movement. 

Tennyson's  Locksley  Hall  is  the  best  known  example  of 
the  use  of  this  movement  in  an  eight  foot  line: 

Comrades,  leave  me  here  a  little,  while  as  yet  'tis  early  morn: 
Leave  me  here,  and  when  you  want  me,  sound  upon  the  bugle  horn. 

The  tendency  of  this  meter  is  always  to  break  into  two 
tetrameter  lines.  Tennyson  occasionally  relieves  this  ten- 
dency by  varying  the  cesura,  as  in, 

Many  a  night  from  yonder  ivied  casement,  ||  ere  I  went  to  rest, 
Did  I  look  on  great  Orion,  ||  sloping  elowly  to  the  West. 

Only  once,  in  this  poem,  the  author  starts  his  line  with  an 
unstressed  syllable,  giving  an  iambic  movement: 

272 


TROCHAIC  VERSE 

On  her  pallid  cheek  and  forehead  came  a  color  and  a  light 
As  I  have  seen  the  rosy  red  flashing  hi  the  northern  light. 

As,  however,  there  is  no  unstressed  syllable  before  the  cesura, 
which  comes  between  red  and  flashing,  in  the  second  half  of 
the  line  the  trochaic  swing  is  restored.  A  reversal  of  this 
effect  occurs  frequently  in  the  poem  in  such  stanzas  as, 

Love  took  up  the  glass  of  time,  and  turned  it  in  his  glowing  hands; 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  hi  golden  sands. 

Here,  the  cesura  occurring  before  the  unstressed  syllable 
and,  the  latter  half  of  the  line  becomes  iambic. 

A  poem  which  has  as  its  pattern  rhythm  throughout,  a 
line  beginning  trochaically  and  ending  iambically  is  Swin- 
burne's Ballad  of  Bath: 

City  lulled  asleep  by  the  chime  of  passing  years, 

Sweeter  smiles  thy  rest  than  the  radiance  round  thy  peers; 

Only  love  and  lovely  remembrance  here  have  place. 
Time  on  thee  lies  lighter  than  music  on  men's  ears; 

Dawn  and  noon  and  sunset  are  one  before  thy  face. 

The  peculiarity  here  is  that  the  third  foot  in  each  line  has 
three  syllables  and  that  the  phrasing  usually  allows  a  slight 
cesura  hi  this  foot.  The  result  is  a  musical  ebb  and  flow 
from  one  movement  to  another. 

If  the  trochaic  character  is  to  be  maintained  throughout 
a  long  line,  the  internal  pauses  must  come  before  stressed 
syllables.  Kipling's  Rustum  Beg  is  a  case  in  point: 

Rustum  Beg  of  Kolazai — slightly  backward  Native  State — 
Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I. — so  began  to  sanitate. 
Built  a  gaol  and  hospital — nearly  built  a  city  drain — 
Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their  ruler  was  insane. 

Every  cesura  here  occurs  between  two  stressed  syllables. 

Tennyson  has  given  us  a  very  remarkable  example  of 
trochaic  rhythm  in  long  lines  in  his  To  Virgil.  This  is  writ- 
ten in  nouameter,  the  longest  recognized  meter  in  English: 

273 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Roman  Virgil,  thou  that  singest 

Ilion's  lofty  temples  robed  in  fire, 
Ilion  falling,  Rome  arising, 

wars,  and  filial  faith,  and  Dido's  pyre, 
Landscape-lover,  lord  of  language 

more  than  he  who  sang  the  Works  and  Days, 
All  the  chosen  coin  of  fancy 

flashing  out  from  many  a  golden  phrase. 

Most  of  the  pauses  here  precede  stressed  syllables  and  the 
effect  is  markedly  trochaic.  Toward  the  ends  of  the  lines, 
however,  the  phrasing  is  inclined  to  swing  toward  the  iambic. 
One  of  Tennyson's  tricks  in  this  poem  is  to  break  the  print- 
ing of  the  line  always  after  the  fourth  foot  in  such  a  way 
that  the  second  half  begins  with  a  stressed  syllable,  although 
there  may  be  no  punctuation  at  the  break.  This  trick  gains 
a  second  direct  attack  and  further  supports  the  trochaic 
rhythm. 

The  examples  given  throughout  this  chapter  all  show  the 
necessity  of  supporting  trochaic  rhythm  by  trochaic  phrasing 
if  the  special  quality  of  this  rhythm  is  to  be  maintained. 
And  the  chief  thing  for  the  poet  to  study  is  the  careful 
management  of  the  cesura. 


274 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TRIPLE  RHYTHM1 

ANAPESTIC  AND   DACTYLIC   VERSE 

The  two  movements  in  triple  rhythm,  anapestic  and  dac- 
tylic, are  much  closer  in  character  than  are  iambic  and 
trochaic.  We  saw  in  the  previous  chapter  that  the  trochaic 
is  more  unstable  than  the  iambic,  that  the  genius  of  the 
language  leans  so  strongly  toward  the  iambic  that  long 
trochaic  lines  almost  inevitably  swing  toward  the  more 
natural  movement.  This  instability  is  true  to  an  even 
greater  extent  in  the  relationship  of  dactylic  to  anapestic 
verse,  so  that  there  are  comparatively  few  poems  that  keep 
distinctive  the  special  character  of  dactylic  movement.  In 
most  respects,  then,  we  may  treat  both  kinds  of  triple 
rhythm  as  one.  In  the  questions  pertaining  to  the  use  of 
light  stresses  and  extra  accents  they  present  the  same 
problems.  In  their  origin  and  history  they  may  be  reviewed 
together. 

Though  literary  verse  from  the  early  English  period  down 
almost  into  the  eighteenth  century  was  prevailingly  iambic 
or  trochaic,  the  irregular  native  English  rhythm  persisted 
in  much  of  the  popular  poetry,  and  occasionally  appeared 
in  the  work  of  experimenters  like  Skelton  and  Spenser.  Many 
of  the  romances,  ballads,  and  miracle  plays  are  either  in 
"tumbling"  rhythm  or  in  a  rough  duple  rhythm  that  often 
falls  into  duple-triple,  but  such  freedom  was  scorned  by  the 
literary  poets. 

In  the  midst  of  this  tumbling  verse  the  anapestic  move- 
ment seems  in  sporadic  instances  to  have  developed  by 
accident.  The  first  dozen  or  so  lines  of  Skelton's  To  Maystres 

1  See  also  Chapter  VI. 

275 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Margaret  Hussey*  the  Second  Shepherd's  Play,  and  the 
prologue  to  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle  (1552)  are  examples. 
Lanier  quotes  an  early  sixteenth  century  Ever  and  Never 
Song  and  the  old  Ballad  of  Agincourt,  the  dactylic  movement 
of  which  was  imitated  by  Drayton  and  later  by  Tennyson. 
Thomas  Tusser's  Five  Hundred  Points  of  Husbandry  is 
written  chiefly  in  monotonously  facile  anapests.  But  triple 
rhythm  seems  to  have  been  considered  appropriate  for 
"low"  and  popular  themes,  so  that  Gascoigne  in  1575  wrote, 
"wee  are  fallen  into  such  a  playne  and  simple  manner  of 
writing,  that  there  is  none  other  foote  used  but  one."3 
Shakespeare  and  other  dramatists  in  their  songs  written  to 
already  existing  popular  tunes,  occasionally  allowed  an 
anapestic  line  like, 


and 


Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 

(Blow,  Blow,  Thou  Winter's  Wind.) 


With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 

(It  Was  a  Lover  and  His  Lass.) 


but  complete  poems  in  this  rhythm  were  not  common  in  the 
Elizabethan  period,  or  for  a  long  time  afterward.  Most  of 
the  Elizabethan  and  Jacobean  examples  of  anapestics  are 
songs  and  ballads  written  to  very  even  triple  measures,  some 
of  them  dance  tunes.  Chappell4  gives  the  music  and  words 
of  half  a  dozen  of  these  ballads  that  date  from  the  end  of 
the  sixteenth  century.  The  more  popular  ones,  like  Pack- 
ington's  Pound,  had  new  words  written  to  them  frequently. 
Anapestics  that  rely  upon  tunes  to  help  the  rhythm  are 
likely  to  be  rough.  Some  of  the  best  are  Desdemona's 
Willow  Song;  a  charming  parallel  to  it  in  Thomas  Deloney's 
Gentle  Craft,  beginning, 

1  Skelton  died  in  1529. 
1  Certayne  Notes  of  Instruction. 

*  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time.    1 :  96,  123,  158,  169,  223,  349. 

270 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

When  fancy  first  fram'd  our  likings  in  love, 
Sing  all  of  greene  willow; 

and  Walton's  "Conversion  of  a  piece  of  an  old  catch," 

Man's  life  is  but  vain,  for  'tis  subject  to  pain, 
And  sorrow,  and  short  as  a  bubble.6 

The  seventeenth  century  still  considered  triple  rhythm  only 
for  poems  intended  to  be  sung.  There  were  a  few  popular 
tunes  current  in  triple  measures  to  which  rough  ballads  were 
written.  Dorset  and  Rochester  wrote  one  or  two  songs  in 
good  anapests  that  stand  alone  without  the  help  of  tunes. 
Cleveland,  and  later  Dryden  made  a  few  experiments  in  the 
dactylic  movement,  but  the  uncertainty  of  them  shows  that 
these  poets  were  depending  upon  a  tune  to  carry  them 
through.6 

Triple  rhythm  was  not  definitely  established  as  a  purely 
poetic  norm  until  Prior  wrote  his  charming  light  anapests. 
Since  his  time  the  rhythm  has  bad  an  important  place  in 
English  prosody. 

For  society  verse  anapestic  continued  to  be  a  favorite 
movement  throughout  the  eighteenth  century.  Swift, 
Byron,  Shenstone,  Goldsmith,  all  wrote  amusing  trifles 
with  a  skilful  handling  of  this  tripping  measure.  At  the 
end  of  the  century,  with  Scott's  Bonnie  Dundee  and  Lochinvar, 
it  began  to  be  used  for  other  themes  than  those  of  society 
verse.  Byron  used  both  the  dactylic  and  anapestic  move- 

5  Professor  Schelling  (Elizabethan  Lyrics,  pp.  xli  and  211)  calls  atten- 
tion to  half  a  dozen  other  interesting  poems  in  not  very  smooth  ana- 
pestics. 

'The  song  in  the  Maiden  Queen,  "I  feed  a  flame  within,  which  so 
torments  me,"  is  doubtless  intended  to  fit  a  dactylic  rhythm,  but 
Dryden  was  accustomed  to  phrasing  in  duple  rhythms: 

Yet  he  for  whom  I  grieve  shall  never  know  it; 
My  tongue  does  not  betray,  nor  my  eyes  show  it: 
Not  a  sigh  nor  a  tear  my  pain  discloses, 
But  they  fall  silently;  like  dew  on  roses. 
277 


ments  in  his  Hebrew  Melodies,  and  Poe,  Browning,  Tennyson 
and  Swinburne  showed  that  no  restriction  in  themes  could 
be  placed  on  triple  rhythms  in  the  future.  Praed  continued 
in  the  delightful  manner  of  Prior;  and  Holmes,  the  American 
"florist  in  verses,"  wrote  dozens  of  "occasional"  anapestics. 
Lowell  in  his  Fable  for  Critics  used  this  movement  in  a 
style  similar  to  Goldsmith's  in  the  Retaliation.  Tennyson 
in  his  ballads  and  Swinburne  in  his  Dolores  and  the  Hymn  to 
Proserpine  brought  out  new  technical  possibilities.  Of  more 
recent  poets,  Richard  Hovey  has  done  the  most  interesting 
things  hi  triple  rhythms.  His  Taleisin  has  some  experiments 
in  unrimed  anapestic  lyrics,  and  his  Barney  Magee  is  in  the 
most  abandoned  rollicking  dactylics. 

As  the  triple  rhythms  have  not  been  in  use  so  long  as  the 
duple,  the  technique  of  them  has  not  been  as  yet  developed 
with  so  much  subtlety;  and  the  later  poets  have  turned  more 
toward  the  duple-triple  which  seems  capable  of  finer  things. 
Triple  rhythm  flows  more  rapidly  than  duple,7  and  its  gal- 
loping lilt  is  more  artificial.  This  artificiality  may  be  due 
to  the  fact  that  there  is  more  duple  than  triple  rhythm  in 
speech;  that  is,  there  are  more  phrases  in  conversational 
prose  that  would  make  perfect  trimeter  or  tetrameter  lines 
in  duple  than  in  triple  rhythm8;  therefore  the  word  order  is 
not  so  natural.  The  beat,  too,  is  more  inevitable;  there 
is  less  chance  for  shading  the  emphasis,  or  for  the  doubtful 
hovering  stresses  which  characterize  certain  types  of  blank 
verse. 

Notice  how  few  actually  light  stresses  there  are  in  Scott's 
Lochinvar: 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for  stone, 
He  swam  the  Esk  River  when  ford  there  was  none; 

7  Though  probably  the  actual  time  value  for  feet  of  three  syllables 
is  the  same  as  for  those  of  two. 

8  It  may  be  noticed,  further,  that  when  prose  becomes  over-rhyth- 
mical it  falls  into  stretches  of  duple  rather  than  triple  rhythm. 

278 


TRIPLE   RHYTHM 

But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late; 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bridesmaids,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers  and  all. 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 

"O,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?  " 

The  only  emphasis  not  required  by  the  actual  phrasing  is 
that  on  ere  in  the  third  line;  the  name  Lochinvar  seems  able 
to  sustain  an  accent  on  either  the  first  or  the  last  syllable, 
according  to  the  rhythmical  demand.  This  scarcity  of  light 
stresses  is  usual  in  both  anapestic  and  dactylic  verse.  The 
decisive  character  of  triple  rhythm  makes  them  much  more 
prominent  when  they  do  occur,  than  they  are  in  duple 
rhythm;  a  frequent  use  of  them  is,  therefore,  to  be  avoided. 
Swift's  line: 

But  how  to  dispose  of  it  to  the  best  bidder, 

one  may  trip  over  at  the  first  reading,  for  one  instinctively 
tries  to  find  a  stronger  word  than  to  to  bear  the  third  stress. 
A  reader  may  find  the  same  difficulty  with  lines  in  Gold- 
smith's Retaliation, 

Our  Garrick  a  salad,  for  in  him  we  see  ... 
and 

That  Rickey's  a  capon;  and  by  the  same  rule. 

Lines  are  especially  questionable  when  the  rhythm  requires 
such  a  wrench  in  phrasing  as  to  introduce  an  extra  accent 
as  well  as  a  light  stress.  Browning's 

One  dissertates,  he  is  candid, 

(Master  Hugues.) 
279 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

is  an  example.  The  dactylic  movement  of  the  poem  ap- 
parently requires  us  to  read 

|  One  disser-  |  tates,  he  is  |  candid, 

though  the  phrasing  pulls  us  in  another  direction.  And 
when  one  has  learned  how  to  read  correctly  the  line  in  the 
same  poem, 

Five  ...  0  Danaides,  0  Sieve! 

he  had  better  mark  the  scansion  or  he  will  surely  trip  over 
it  again.9  The  eighteenth  century  poets  could  admit  more 
light  accents  than  their  successors,  without  tripping  the 
reader,  because  dissyllabic  feet  were  then  so  rare  in  this 
rhythm  that  the  reader  might  assume  that  the  stress  must 
occur  on  every  third  syllable.  Thus,  Prior's  earlier  readers 
probably  caught  his  intention  at  once  in  the  line, 

Then  take  Mat's  word  for  it,  the  sculptor  is  paid, 

(For  My  Own  Monument.) 

and,  going  lightly  over  the  syllable  word,  put  the  stress  on 
for.  The  modern  reader,  however,  accustomed  to  dis- 
syllabic variation,  may  at  first  sight  read, 

Then  |  take  Mat's  [word  for  _%_  the  |  sculptor  is  |  paid. 

The  writer  of  anapestic  and  dactylic  verse  should  not  rely 
too  much  on  the  established  movement  carrying  him 
through;  a  line  is  bad  if  its  phrasing  distinctly  leads  the 
reader  into  a  movement  other  than  that  which  the  writer 
expects  him  to  give  it.  The  rhythm  of  well  known  tunes 
helped  the  eighteenth  century  ballad  writer  over  such  lines 
as, 

The  Lord  knows  who  must  set  'em  right 
or, 

•  I  Five  .  .  .  O  Dan  |  aides,  |  O  Sieve! 
seems  to  be  the  way  the  poet  intended  it  to  go. 

280 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

And  put  us  into  a  right  summary  way, 

but  this  can  hardly  justify  them  as  good  anapestics.10 

If  the  light  stress  is  more  prominent  in  triple  rhythm 
than  in  duple,  the  force  of  an  extra  accent  is  less.  Pro- 
fessor Saintsbury11  has  called  attention  to  the  advantage 
of  the  anapestic  movement  in  the  treatment  of  a  syllable 
like  child  in  Prior's 

The  God  of  us  versemen,  you  know,  child,  the  Sun. 

Here  the  colloquial  address  has  the  casual  light  value  that 
belongs  to  it;  in  iambic  movement  it  would  be  over  promi- 
nent. This  quality  may,  of  course,  work  with  an  opposite 
effect;  the  hurry  of  the  movement  may  slight  an  important 
extra  accented  syllable.  Falstaff  hardly  receives  his  due 
in  Prior's  line, 

Prithee  quit  this  caprice;  and  as  old  Falstaff  says. 

But  such  blemishes  are  not  characteristic  of  Prior.  Brown- 
ing's anapestics  are  frequently  choked  with  words  that 
demand  more  stress  than  the  movement  will  allow  them. 
In  How  They  Brought  the  Good  News  this  trick  of  phrasing 
gives  a  suggestion  of  recklessly  galloping  over  all  obstacles. 
One  feels  this  effect  in  lines  like, 

I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  made  its  girths  tight, 
or, 

'Twas  moonset  at  starting;  but  while  we  drew  near 
Lokeren,  the  cocks  crew  and  twilight  dawned  clear, 

10  The  |  Lord  knows  who  |  must  set  'em  |  right, 
and 

And  |  put  us  in-  |  to  a  right  |  summary  [  way. 

Dr.  Milton  Percival's  introduction  to  his  collection  of  Political  Ballads 
(Oxford,  1916)  emphasizes  the  fact  that  such  poetry  is  intended  to  be 
sung,  rather  than  read. 

11  History  of  English  Prosody,  2:  430. 

281 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
and  especially  in 

'Neath  our  feet  broke  the  brittle  bright  stubble  like  chaff. 

In  the  last  two  lines  quoted,  the  alliteration  counts  for  much. 
On  the  other  hand,  does  not  the  spondaic  phrasing,  combined 
with  Browning's  grotesque  fondness  for  cluttering  con- 
sonants, excessively  obstruct  the  movement  in, 

Rebuckled  the  cheek-strap,  chained  slacker  the  bit, 

and 

Till  over  by  Dalhem  a  dome-spire  sprang  white? 

And,  again,  the  usual  rhythm  of  the  phrase  a  great  yellow 
star  leads  the  reader  to  stress  great  in  the  line, 

At  Boom,  a  great  yellow  star  came  out  to  see, 

and  so  throws  him  completely  off  the  track  at  the  first  read- 
ing. In  Saul,  Browning  has  more  anapestics  that  do  not 
read  easily.  The  phrasing  must  be  considerably  wrenched 
to  read  the  following  as  anapestic  lines: 

Then  I  tuned  my  harp, — took  off  the  lilies  we  twine  round  its 
chords  .  .  . 

and 

That  opes  the  rock,  helps  its  glad  labor. 

Kipling  in  his  Young  British  Soldier,  the  emphatic  beat 
of  which  cries  out  for  a  swinging  ballad  tune,  has  helped  the 
reader  by  italicizing  two  places  where  he  wishes  light  stresses 
to  fall, 


and 


Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
So  -  oldier  of  the  Queen, 


But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over  'ead: 
You  must  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said. 
282 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

This  last  example  suggests  one  more  point  about  phrasing. 
Kipling  apparently  italicized  must  because  it  would  not 
receive  the  proper  emphasis  if  the  reader,  repeating  the 
rhythm  with  which  the  preceding  line  begins,  put  the  stress 
on  the  third  word,  wear.  A  stress  here  would  also  slightly 
vary  the  anapestic  movement.  Now  compare  with  this  the 
effect  in  the  two  following  lines  of  Goldsmith's  Retaliation: 

A  flattering  painter  who  made  it  his  care 

To  draw  men  as  they  ought  to  be,  not  as  they  are. 

As  anapestic  lines  may  ordinarily  begin  with  either  one  or 
two  unstressed  syllables  the  reader  may  try  to  start  the 
second  line  here  with  a  stress  either  on  draw  or  men.  But 
if  he  puts  it  on  draw,  beginning  this  line  as  he  did  the  one 
before,  both  the  rhythm  and  the  meter  will  be  thrown  out. 
The  poet,  then,  may  start  his  anapestic  lines  as  he  will, 
provided  he  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  which  syllable  should  be 
given  the  first  stress.  There  can  be  no  hesitation  in  this 
matter  in  the  following  couplet  from  the  same  poem: 

Who,  born  for  the  universe,  narrowed  his  mind, 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind. 

Of  course,  all  these  small  technical  points  hi  phrasing  are 
of  minor  importance.  They  are  merely  things  to  be  observed 
if  the  poet  wishes  to  be  sure  that  his  triple  rhythms  will 
flow  with  absolute  smoothness.  When  doubtful  anapestics 
are  read  aloud  "at  sight,"  the  effect  is  like  that  of  listening 
to  an  amateur  pianist  who  goes  back  to  pick  up  the  notes 
that  he  dropped  out  in  his  haste. 

Byron's  anapestics  are  smooth  and  unvaried — too  smooth 
for  many  ears.  The  excellent  roll  of  the  well-known  Sen- 
nacherib is  gained  by  using  long  vowels  in  the  stressed  places 
and  blending  them  with  sonorous  tone-color.  Poe's  For 
Annie  gains  its  smoothness  by  a  phrasing  that,  except  for 
its  pauses,  makes  no  conflict  with  the  movement.  One 
line  takes  up  the  rhythm  just  where  the  preceding  one  left 

283 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

it,  i.  e.,  lines  with  a  light  ending  or  double  light  ending  are 
compensated  at  the  beginning  of  the  next,  e.  g. 

Thank  Heaven!  the  crisis — 

The  danger  is  past, 
And  the  lingering  illness 

Is  over  at  last — 
And  the  fever  called  "Living" 

Is  conquered  at  last. 


Of  a  water  that  flows, 

With  a  lullaby  sound, 
From  a  spring  but  a  very  few 

Feet  under  ground — 
From  a  cavern  not  very  far 

Down  under  ground. 

In  this  poem  the  lines  are  evenly  divided  between  those 
with  strong  and  those  wjth  weak  endings.  In  longer 
measures,  the  similar  simple  expedient  of  making  the  cesura 
fall  after  a  stressed  or  an  unstressed  syllable,  or  of  omitting 
the  cesura,  may  be  a  means  of  varying  a  rhythm,  the  in- 
sistence of  which  becomes  monotonous.  Byron  uses  about 
as  many  masculine  as  feminine  cesuras.  The  preponderance 
of  feminine  in  Scott's  Lochinvar  adds  to  the  galloping  effect 
of  the  poem.  The  same  mood  is  produced  by  the  amphi- 
brach phrasing  in  Browning's 

I  galloped,  Dirk  galloped,  _we  galloped  all  three^ 

and  Byron's 

The  Bourbon!  the  Bourbon! 

Sans  country  or  home 
We'll  follow  the  Bourbon 

To  plunder  old  Rome. 

Kipling's  Screw-Guns  is  written  in  anapestic  hexameter,  but 
its  rapid  ballad  swing  is  gained  by  a  consistent  use  of  a 

284 


TRIPLE   RHYTHM 

feminine  cesura  which  divides  every  line  in  half,  so  that  the 
poem  is  practically  in  trimeter.  The  internal  rime  in  the 
chorus  tends  further  to  shorten  the  meter.12 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings, 

sniffin'  the  mornin'  cool, 
I  climbs  in  my  old  brown  gaiters 

along  o'  my  old  brown  mule. 
The  monkeys  can  say  what  our  road  was — 

the  wild  goat  'e  knows  where  we  passed. 
Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old  darlin's! 

Out  drag-ropes!    With  shrapnel!    Hold 

fast— 'Tss!    'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — the  screw- 
guns  they  all  love  you! 

So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns,  o' 

course  you  will  know  what  to  do — hoo!  hoo! 

Just  send  in  your  Chief  and  surrender — it's 
worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs: 

You  may  hide  in  the  caves,  they'll  be  only 
your  graves,  but  you  can't  get  away 
from  the  guns! 

Tennyson's  Voyage  of  Maeldune  is,  with  occasional  excep- 
tions, in  the  same  meter — hexameter — but  gives  an  alto- 
gether different  rhythmic  impression.  In  the  third  stanza, 
quoted  below,  each  whole  line  is  felt  as  a  distinct  unit,  be- 
cause the  pauses  in  the  phrasing  may  come  after  the  fourth 
foot  as  often  as  after  the  third.  Furthermore,  they  are 
almost  all  masculine. 

And  we  came  to  the  Silent  Isle  that  we  never  had  touch'd 

at  before, 
Where  a  silent  ocean  always  broke  on  a  silent  shore, 

"The  effect  of  printing  long  lines  with  internal  rime,  instead  of 
breaking  them  into  short  meters,  is  to  increase  the  speed  at  which  one 
will  read.  One  generally  pauses  less  at  a  cesura  than  at  a  line  ending. 

285 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  the  brooks  glitter'd  on  in  the  light  without  sound,  and 

the  long  waterfalls 
Pour'd  in  a  thunderless  plunge  to  the  base  of  the  mountain 

walls. 
And  the  poplar  and  cypress  unshaken  by  storm  flourish'd 

up  beyond  sight, 
And  the  pine  shot  aloft  from  the  crag  to  an  unbelievable 

height, 
And  high  in  the  heaven  above  it  there  flicker'd  a  songless 

lark, 
And  the  cock  couldn't  crow,  and  the  bull  couldn't  low,  and 

the  dog  couldn't  bark. 

Tennyson  and  Swinburne  are  our  greatest  masters  in  the 
management  of  these  long  anapestic  measures.  They  have 
used  them  in  stretches  of  narrative  and  descriptive  work 
where  the  danger  of  monotony  in  this  movement  is  increased 
by  the  length  of  the  poems.  The  chief  method  of  variation 
is  this  constant  change  in  the  position  and  character  of  the 
pauses. 

Occasionally  an  effect  is  gained  by  giving  the  long  line 
its  full  sweep  without  any  pause.  Here  are  a  pair  of  lines 
with  no  cesura  and  with  a  perfect  coincidence  of  phrasing 
and  movement: 

And  a  wave  like  the  wave  that  is  raised  by  an  earthquake 

grew, 
Till  it  smote  on  their  hulls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts 

and  their  flags. 

(Tennyson:    Revenge.) 

A  splendid  handling  of  this  rhythm  in  a  still  longer  meter 
— heptameter — is  the  middle  movement  of  Swinburne's  Lake 
of  Gaube.  In  the  following  excerpt  from  the  joyous  descrip- 
tion of  a  deep  dive,  the  cesuras,  which  are  chiefly  feminine, 
are  varied  as  we  read  from  line  to  line,  and  the  longer  pauses 
occur  only  at  the  ends  of  lines.  This,  by  preventing  any 
tendency  to  break  regularly,  gives  the  heptameters  their  full 
reach. 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

Free  utterly  now,  though  the  freedom  endure  but  the  space 

of  a  breath, 
And  living,  though  girdled  about  with  the  darkness  and 

coolness  and  strangeness  of  death:' 
Each  limb  and  each  pulse  of  the  body  rejoicing,  each  nerve 

of  the  spirit  at  rest, 
All  sense  of  the  soul's  life  rapture,  a  passionate  peace  in  its 

blindness  blest. 
So  plunges  the  downward  swimmer,  embraced  of  the  water 

unf  athomed  of  man, 
The  darkness  unplummeted,  icier  than  seas  in  midwinter, 

for  blessing  or  ban; 
Arid  swiftly  and  sweetly,  when  strength  and  breath  fall 

short,  and  the  dive  is  done, 
Shoots  up  as  a  shaft  from  the  dark  depth  shot,  sped  straight 

into  sight  of  the  sun. 

The  last  two  lines  quoted  show  one  more  kind  of  varia- 
tion in  the  anapestic  movement.  Several  of  the  feet  have 
two  syllables  instead  of  three  so  that  the  rhythm  really 
changes  to  duple-triple.  The  same  change  occurs  in  the 
passages  quoted  above  from  Kipling  and  Tennyson,  e.  g. 

I  |  climbs  hi  my  |  old  br6wn  |  gaiters  a-  J  long  o'  my 
|  old  brown  |  mule. 

and, 

Where  a  |   silent  |  ocean  |  always  |  broke  on  a 
silent  |  shore. 

This  use  of  from  two  to  four  dissyllabic  feet  in  a  hexameter 
or  heptameter  changes  completely  the  character  of  the 
rhythm.  The  use  of  but  a  single  dissyllabic  foot  in  the  line, 

And  we  1  came  to  a  |  Silent  |  Isle  that  we  |  never  had 
|  touched  at  be-  |  fore, 

gives  some  variation  without  a  real  interruption  to  the 
anapestic  movement.  The  poet,  of  course,  is  at  liberty  to 
change  the  flow  of  his  anapestics  or  dactylics  to  as  great  an 

287 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

extent  as  his  ear  finds  pleasing.  In  the  eighteenth  century 
and  early  nineteenth,  the  poets  used  but  little  variation  of 
this  kind.  A  dissyllabic  foot  might  occur  only  at  the 
cesura,  as  in  the  line, 

Other  |  horses  are  |  clowns,  and  |  these  maca-  |  ronies. 
(Tickell:    On  a  Woman  of  Fashion.) 

However,  after  Tennyson  and  Swinburne  developed  the 
duple-triple  rhythm  in  long  meters,  poets  have  frequently 
fallen  into  this  rhythm  for  specially  varied  effects  in  their 
long  line  anapestics.  In  fact,  Coleridge's  'Christabel,  in 
the  earlier  part  of  the  century,  had  shown  that  the  three 
movements,  iambic,  iambic-anapestic,  and  anapestic,  could 
flow  agreeably  from  one  to  another  in  the  same  poem. 

To  illustrate  an  interesting  use  of  this  dissyllabic  varia- 
tion one  more  passage  from  Swinburne  may  be  quoted, 
this  time  from  March,  an  Ode.  This  is  written  in  octameters 
which  rise  and  fall  in  glorious  long  rhythmic  sweeps,  usually 
with  a  possible  slight  pause  in  the  middle;  though  in  the 
first,  second,  and  fifth  of  the  lines  quoted  below,  very  definite 
cesuras  divide  the  meter  unsymmetrically.  About  eight 
or  nine  dissyllabic  feet  are  distributed  through  this  passage ; 
enough  for  variety  but  not  enough  to  make  us  feel  that  the 
rhythmic  pattern  has  changed  to  duple-triple. 

For  the  breath  of  thy  lips  is  freedom,  and  freedom's  the 

sense  of  thy  spirit,  the  sound  of  thy  song, 
Glad  god  of  the  north-east  wind,  whose  heart  is  as  high 

as  the  hands  of  thy  kingdom  are  strong, 
Thy  kingdom  whose  empire  is  terror  and  joy,  twin-featured 

and  fruitful  of  births  divine, 
Days  lit  with  the  flame  of  the  lamps  of  the  flowers,  and 

nights  that  are  drunken  with  dew  for  wine, 
And  sleep  not  for  joy  of  the  stars  that  deepen  and  quicken 

a  denser  and  fiercer  throng. 
And  the  world  that  thy  breath  bade  whiten  and  tremble 

rejoices  at  heart  as  they  strengthen  and  shine, 
288 


TRIPLE   RHYTHM 

And  earth  gives  thanks  for  the  glory  bequeathed  her,  and 
knows  of  thy  reign  that  it  wrought  not  wrong. 

If  we  review  the  types  of  anapestic  verse  discussed  in 
this  chapter  we  may  distinguish  two  classes,  represented 
in  their  extremes  by  the  techniques  of  Browning  and  of 
Swinburne.  In  the  Browning  type — in  Saul,  for  instance — 
the  frequent  use  of  extra  accents  roughens  the  rhythm,  but 
condenses  and  emphasizes  the  thought.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  wild  excitement  of  sailing  before  the  wind  in 
Swinburnian  anapestics  we  but  vaguely  apprehend  the 
meaning.  Such  perfect  facility  in  triple  rhythm  means  that 
at  best  only  one  syllable  out  of  three  can  be  important;  the 
sense  seems  thin  and  the  construction  often  tenuous.  Ideal 
anapestics  would  be  those  which  lie  somewhere  between  these 
two  extremes. 

The  dactylic  movement  so  easily  runs  into  anapestic  that 
it  can  keep  its  individuality  only  by  a  special  effort  on  the 
part  of  both  poet  and  reader.  Ordinarily  neither  a  reader 
nor  a  listener  is  clearly  conscious  of  a  change  from  one 
movement  to  the  other  in  poems  that  use  both.  The  direct 
attack  of  the  second  and  fourth  lines  in  the  following  do  not 
make  one  feel  as  he  reads  that  the  movement  has  changed: 

0  children  of  banishment, 

Souls  overcast; 
Were  the  lights  ye  see  vanish  meant 

Always  to  last, 
Ye  would  know  not  the  sun  overshining 

the  shadows  and  stars  overpast. 

(Swinburne:    Hertha.) 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  the  single  dactylic  lines  in  the 
passages  quoted,  a  few  pages  back,  from  Poe  and  Kipling. 
Such  lines  properly  should  not  be  considered  dactylic.  We 
call  dactylic  a  single  line  in  triple  rhythm  which  begins  with 
direct  attack,  but  the  movement  which  the  line  would 

289 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

have  were  it  alone  may  be  overridden  by  the  movement  d* 
the  lines  which  precede  it. 

A  poet  may  introduce  dactylic  lines  into  an  anapestic 
movement  to  throw  special  emphasis  on  a  phrase.  If  the 
preceding  line  ends  with  a  stress  the  change  will  be  mere 
apparent.  There  are  fine  examples  of  this  in  Tennyson's 
Charge  of  the  Heavy  Brigade: 

The  charge  of  the  gallant  three  hundred,  the  Heavy 

Brigade! 

Down  the  hill,  down  the  hill,  thousands  of  Russians, 
Thousands  of  horsemen,  drew  to  the  valley — and  stay'd; 
For  Scarlett  and  Scarlett's  three  hundred  were  riding  by 
When  the  points  of  the  Russian  lances  arose  in  the  sky; 
And  he  call'd,  "Left  wheel  into  line!"  and  they  wheel'd 

and  obey'd. 
Then  he  look'd  at  the  host  that  had  halted  he  knew  not 

why, 
And  he  turn'd  half  round,  and  he  bade  his  trumpeter 

sound 
To  the  charge,  and  he  rode  on  ahead,  as  he  waved  his 

blade 

To  the  gallant  three  hundred  whose  glory  will  never  difr— 
"Follow,"  and  up  the  hill,  up  the  hill,  up  the  hill, 
Follow'd  the  Heavy  Brigade. 

The  changes  to  dactylic  movement  here  are  unusually  clever 
tricks  in  rhythm.  The  poet  has  not  only  gained  the  emphasis 
of  direct  attack  but  has  also  made  the  reader  (if  he  follows 
the  poet's  intention)  give  the  repeated  phrases  down  the 
hill  and  up  the  hill  a  strikingly  suggestive  movement  by 
stressing  their  first  syllables. 

Stretches  of  dactylics  and  anapestics  are  commonly  blended 
in  the  same  poem.  Swinburne's  To  Walt  Whitman  in  America 
starts  with  a  dactylic  stanza,  but  continues  through  the 
rest  of  the  poem  in  anapestics,  with  the  exception  of  one 
more  dactylic  stanza  toward  the  end.  And  Byron's  Lachin 
y  Gair  has  two  stanzas  with  an  anapestic  swing,  followed 

290 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

by  three  in  which  the  dactylic  dominates.  It  is  significant 
that  the  more  emphatic  and  stirring  half  of  the  poem  is 
this  latter  dactylic  part. 

The  poems  which  sustain  the  special  character  of  the 
dactylic  movement  throughout  are  all  in  short  meters.  The 
force  of  the  direct  attack  must  come  at  frequent  intervals 
to  oppose  the  tendency  to  relapse  into  the  anapestic  move- 
ment. 

Hood's  Bridge  of  Sighs  is  a  well  known  example: 

One  more  unfortunate, 
Weary  of  breath, 
Rashly  importunate 
Gone  to  her  death! 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  with  care; 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  fair! 

Touch  her  not  scornfully; 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 
Gently  and  humanly; 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her, 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 

That  this  has  a  special  character  imparted  by  the  dactylic 
movement  one  can  hardly  deny.  If  it  is  read  immediately 
after  Poe's  To  Annie,  also  in  dimeter,  but  anapestic — the 
difference  in  feeling  is  very  evident.  The  movement  keeps 
its  individuality  by  the  frequency  of  the  direct  attack  com- 
bined with  a  consistent  use  of  triple  endings.  The  phrasing 
will  not  allow  the  reader  to  go  astray;  he  cannot  find  a  place 
for  more  than  two  stresses  in  a  line,  and  there  is  no  doubt  of 
where  they  must  come.  But  much  has  been  sacrificed  to 
secure  this  perfect  dactylic  movement.  The  poem  is  dactylic 
but  is  it  much  else? 

Whenever  we  find  an  attempt  to  sustain  a  purely  dactylic 

291 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

movement  by  phrasing  and  by  the  use -of  triple  endings,  the 
poem  inevitably  becomes  monotonous  and  artificial,  because 
the  dactylic  words  in  English  are  chiefly  participles  in 
-ing  or  in  -ly.  The  jingle  of  Hood's 

Sisterly,  brotherly, 
Fatherly,  motherly 
Feelings  had  changed, 

hardly  belongs  in  a  serious  poem.  In  light  verse,  however, 
this  effect  may  be  exactly  what  is  sought  after,  and  the 
surprise  at  the  triple  rimes  adds  to  the  fun.  Richard  Hovey's 
Barney  McGee  is  a  fine  example: 

Barney  McGee,  there's  no  end  of  good  luck  in  you, 

Will-o'-the-wisp,  with  a  flicker  of  Puck  in  you, 

Wild  as  a  bull-pup  and  all  of  his  pluck  in  you, — 

Let  a  man  tread  on  your  coat  and  he'll  see! — 

Eyes  like  the  lakes  of  Killarney  for  clarity, 

Nose  that  turns  up  without  any  vulgarity, 

Smile  like  a  cherub,  and  hair  that  is  carroty, — 

Wow,  you're  a  rarity,  Barney  McGee  I 

Mellow  as  tarragon, 

Prouder  than  Arragon — 

Hardly  a  paragon, 

You  will  agree — 

Here's  all  that's  fine  to  you! 

Books  and  old  wine  to  you! 

Girls  be  divine  to  you, 

Barney  McGee  I 

Swinburne,  who  in  regard  to  technique  must  be  allowed 
to  speak  with  authority,  went  so  far  as  to  call  English  a 
language  "to  which  all  variations  and  combinations  of 
anapestic,  iambic  or  trochaic  meter  are  as  natural  and  pliable 
as  all  dactylic  and  spondaic  forms  are  unnatural  and  abhor- 
rent."18 By  this  he  probably  meant  a  completely  sustained 

M  Note  preceding  his  translation  of  the  Grand  Chorus  of  Birds  from 
Aristophanes.  Campion  (Observations  in  the  Art  of  English  Poesie) 
had  expressed  the  same  opinion  of  dactylics  in  1602. 

292 


TRIPLE   RHYTHM 

and  distinctive  dactylic  movement.  The  writer  of  dactylics 
usually  contents  himself  with  the  advantage  he  gains  in  the 
emphatic  beginnings  to  his  lines  and  allows  the  phrasing 
to  swing  the  movement  to  anapestic,  e.  g. 

Warriors  and  chiefs!  should  the  shaft  or  the  sword 
Pierce  me  in  leading  the  host  of  the  Lord, 
Heed  not  the  corse,  though  a  king's,  in  your  path; 
Bury  your  steel  in  the  bosoms  of  Gath! 

(Byron:    Song  of  Saul  Before  His  Last  Battk.) 

The  strong  stresses  at  the  beginning  and  ending  of  each 
line  have  a  greater  force  than  the  uninterrupted  flow  of  triple 
rhythm  in  anapestics.  If  the  cesuras  come  before  stressed 
syllables,  as  in  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  lines  of  the  following, 
the  dactylic  effect  is  further  emphasized. 

Sea-king's  daughter  from  over  the  sea, 

Alexandra! 

Saxon  and  Norman  and  Dane  are  we, 
But  all  of  us  Danes  in  our  welcome  of  thee, 

Alexandra! 

Welcome  her,  thunders  of  fort  and  of  fleet! 
Welcome  her,  thundering  cheer  of  the  street! 
Welcome  her,  all  things  youthful  and  sweet, 
Scatter  the  blossom  under  her  feet. 

(Tennyson:    A  Welcome  to  Alexandra.) 

Swinburne  has  phrased  his  hexameter  lines  in  the  same  way, 
with  pauses  before  stresses  in  the  first  stanza  of  his  Song  of  the 
Standard: 

Maiden  most  beautiful,  mother  most  bountiful,  lady  of 

lands, 
Queen  and  republican,  crowned  of  the  centuries  whose 

years  are  thy  sands, 
See  for  thy  sake  what  we  bring  to  thee,  Italy,  here  in 

our  hands. 

In  some  of  the  later  stanzas,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cesuras 
throw  the  phrasing  into  anapestic  movement: 

293 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Art  thou  not  better  than  all  men?  and  where  shall  she 
turn  but  to  thee? 

Lo,  not  a  breath,  not  a  beam,  not  a  beacon  from  mid- 
land to  sea; 

Freedom  cries  out  for  a  sign  among  nations,  and  none 
will  be  free. 

Tennyson's  Defense  of  Lucknow,  in  the  same  meter,  is  one 
of  the  finest  examples  of  the  movement  in  English.  The 
phrasing  here^  too,  allows  the  line  in  most  cases  to  swing 
toward  the  anapestic.  The  exceptions  are  lines  meant  to 
stand  out  as  especially  emphatic. 

Mention  has  already  been  made  of  the  rhythmic  difficulties 
for  the  reader  of  Browning's  Master  Hugues,  where  the  poet 
depends  upon  the  force  of  the  established  dactylic  movement 
to  overcome  the  phrasing  of  such  lines  as, 

In  strikes  a  Fourth,  a  Fifth  thrusts  hi  his  nose, 
or, 

Bid  One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five  clear  the  arena.1* 

Browning  is  here  treating  the  dactylic  movement  as  one  must 
treat  certain  of  the  more  difficult  Latin  and  Greek  rhythms 
in  English  experiments.  The  rhythm  must  be  consciously 
in  the  reader's  mind  all  the  while  and  the  words  more  or 
less  forced  into  the  rhythm. 

I  should  call  Tennyson's  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 
another  poem  in  which  the  dactylic  movement  is  intended 
to  override  the  phrasing.  But  in  this  case  the  conflicts  are 
not  in  danger  of  upsetting  all  regular  pattern  as  they  do  in 
some  of  the  Browning  lines,  but  merely  allow  the  reader, 
if  he  prefers,  to  make  a  change  in  the  pattern.  Most  people 
begin  the  poem  as  dactylic  dimeter: 

|  Half  a  league,  |  half  a  league, 
1  Half  a  league  |  onwa'rd, 

14 1  In  strikes  a  |  Fourth,  a  Fifth  |  thrusts  in  his  |  nose. 
|  Bid  One,  Two,  |  Three,  Four,  Five  |  clear  the  a-  |  rcna. 

294 


TRIPLE  RHYTHM 

and  keep  the  refrain  line  in  the  same  meter: 

|  Rode  the  six  |  hundred; 
but  read  the  lines  with  important  final  syllables  as  trimeter: 

|  All  in  the  |  valley  of  |  Death, 
and, 

|  "Forward  the  |  Light  Bri-  |  gade! 
|  Charge  for  the  |  guns!  "  he  |  said. 

But  Tennyson  probably  intended  that  all  the  lines  should 
be  dimeter.  The  final  syllables  he  made  important  in  order 
to  avoid  the  jingle  of  perfect  triple  rimes  which  spoils  Hood's 
poem  in  this  meter  and  rhythm.  One  might  slight  these 
syllables  in  reading,  and  by  keeping  the  lines  consistently 
dimeter  give  a  more  appropriate  galloping  rhythm,  e.  g. 

Forward,  the  |  Light  Brigade! 
Was  there  a  |  man  dismay'd? 
Not  tho'  the  |  soldier  knew 

|  Someone  had  |  blunder'd: 
Theirs  not  to  |  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  |  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  |  do  and  die: 
Into  the  |  valley  of  Death 

I  Rode  the  six  I  hundred. 


295 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS1 

IAMBIC-ANAPESTIC  AND   TROCHAIC-DACTYLIC 

If  one  prefers  to  consider  the  single  foot  the  basis  for  dis- 
cussions of  rhythm,  one  will  call  the  line, 

The  sound  of  the  hollow  sea's  release, 

iambic  with  the  variation  of  a  single  trisyllabic  foot;  and 
the  line, 

In  the  night's  retreat  from  the  gathering  frost, 

anapestic  with  the  variation  of  a  single  dissyllabic  foot.  If, 
however,  one  prefers  to  consider  the  whole  line  as  the  basis — 
or  still  better,  the  movement  characteristic  of  a  group  of 
lines,  as  the  basis  for  discussions  of  rhythm — one  feels  the 
need  of  a  third  classification,  iambic-anapestic,  to  describe 
the  verses  just  quoted.  Bad/would  fit  perfectly  as  a  slight 
variant  in  a  poem  whose  rhythmic  norm  is  the  movement 
which  each  approaches.  But  they  also  fit  perfectly  to- 
gether in  the  same  poem : 

The  crickets  mourning  their  comrades  lost, 
In  the  night's  retreat  from  the  gathering  frost; 

(Or  is  it  their  slogan,  plaintive  and  shrill, 
As  they  beat  in  their  corselets,  valiant  still?) 


(O  leaves,  0  leaves,  I  am  one  with  you, 

Of  the  mould  and  the  sun  and  the  wind  and  the  dew!) 

1  See  also  Chapter  V. 

296 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

The  broad  gold  wake  of  the  afternoon; 
The  silent  fleck  of  the  cold  new  moon; 

The  sound  of  the  hollow  sea's  release 
From  stormy  tumult  to  starry  peace; 

With  only  another  league  to  wend; 

And  two  brown  arms  at  the  journey's  end! 

These  are  the  joys  of  the  open  road — 
For  him  who  travels  without  a  load. 

(Bliss  Carman:    Joys  of  the  Road.} 

Evidently  the  rhythmic  "tune"  of  this  poem  is  something 
different  from  the  regular  duple  or  regular  triple  considered 
in  the  previous  chapters.  The  norm  here  is  a  free  com- 
bination of  time  divisions  composed  of  either  two  or  three 
syllables. 

This  term  duple-triple  is  not  merely  a  convenient  pigeon- 
hole in  which  to  place  all  the  poems  that  cannot  be  described 
as  either  duple  or  triple  in  rhythm;  it  is  a  necessary  division 
for  such  poems  as  Shelley's  Cloud,  and  Swinburne's  Seaboard, 
or  his  Swimmer's  Dream,  the  music  of  which  comes  from  a 
technique  different  from  that  of  the  other  rhythms.2 

2  The  dividing  line  which  separates  duple-triple  rhythm  from  the  two 
rhythms  which  it  approaches  is  quite  hazy.  Simple  verses  like 

The  sound  of  the  hollow  sea's  release, 
or, 

In  the  night's  retreat  from  the  gathering  frost, 

may  be  introduced  into  the  regular  rhythms  occasionally,  but  when 
a  variation  is  constantly  repeated  it  establishes  a  new  rhythmic  norm. 
In  general,  we  may  consider  that  a  proportion  of  one  or  more  trisyllabic 
feet  to  four  dissyllabic  in  a  passage  of  verse  will  give  a  duple-triple 
rhythm.  (See  Chap.  IV,  p.  37.)  Duple-triple  rhythm  usually  has 
a  greater  proportion  of  dissyllabic  feet  than  trisyllabic.  Triple 
rhythm  can  apparently  be  varied  much  more  than  duple  without  sug- 
gesting a  new  rhythmic  pattern  to  the  ear.  The  question  of  just  at  what 
point  either  duple  or  triple  rhythm  becomes  duple-triple  is  perhaps 
not  important,  but  the  special  recognition  of  this  mixed  rhythm  and  its 
characteristic  possibilities  is  quite  significant. 

297 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

The  duple-triple  was  the  latest  of  all  the  important 
rhythms  to  be  developed,  although  the  early  history  of  our 
versification  would  lead  one  to  expect  it  to  be  among  the  first. 
When  foreign  influence  brought  the  duple  rhythm  into  Eng- 
lish verse,  it  was  accepted  in  a  very  rough  form.  The  Eng- 
lish ear  accustomed  to  the  irregular  native  rhythm  did  not 
demand  smooth  iambics.  The  verse  of  the  twelfth  and  thir- 
teenth centuries  admitted  considerable  variation,  and  the 
freedom  of  the  metrical  romances  of  that  period  was  con- 
tinued later  in  the  versification  of  the  ballads.  The  fact  that 
the  ballads  were  sung  doubtless  allowed  them  to  fall  into 
the  extremely  rough  state  in  which  many  of  them  have 
come  down  to  us.  Not  infrequently  the  roughness  amounts 
to  a  duple-triple  rather  than  a  duple  rhythm  for  a  whole 
stanza,  e.  g. 

It  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas  time, 
When  the  green  leaves  were  a-falling, 

That  Sir  John  Graeme  in  the  West  Country, 
Fell  in  love  with  Barbara  Allan. 

(Bonny  Barbara  Allan.) 

The  verse  of  a  few  of  the  miracle  plays  is  a  tumbling  rhythm 
smoothed  into  a  duple-triple,  or,  as  in  the  Second  Shepherds' 
Play,  a  fairly  even  triple.  And  duple-triple  seems  to  be  what 
Skelton  is  driving  at  sometimes.  But  like  the  straight 
triple  rhythm  it  had  no  recognized  place  with  the  Eliza- 
bethans, except  in  a  few  songs.  Chappell3  cites  a  number  of 
these  that  were  sung  to  the  Jacobean  tune  of  Hunting  the 
Hare — songs  in  a  rhythm  of  two  syllable  and  three  syllable 
feet  arranged  in  a  tuneful  pattern;  and  Gay's  Beggars' 
Opera  has  this  one,  which  seems  to  sing  itself  even  without 
the  music: 

If  the  heart  of  a  man  is  depress'd  with  cares, 
The  mist  is  dispell'd,  when  woman  appears; 

*0p.cil.,  1:  320  S 

298 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

Like  the  notes  of  a  fiddle,  she  sweetly,  sweetly, 
Raises  the  spirits,  and  charms  our  ears. 
Roses  and  lilies  her  cheeks  disclose, 
But  her  ripe  lips  are  more  sweet  than  those. 

Press  her, 

Caress  her, 

With  blisses, 

Her  kisses 
Dissolve  us  in  pleasure  and  soft  repose. 

Songs  in  this  varied  rhythm,  however,  are  not  common 
even  in  the  eighteenth  century  when  anapestics  were 
extremely  popular.  And  wherever  they  do  occur  they  seem 
to  Inve  been  written  to  a  tune. 

Blake,  who  wrote  a  number  of  poems  apparently  on  the 
principle  of  musical  equivalence,  in  a  few  places  fell  into  a 
duple-triple  rhythm.  The  second  stanza  of  the  Nurses' 
Song,  which  antedates  Christabel  by  eight  years,  he  wrote 
in  a  rhythm  which  Coleridge  thought  he  himself  had  in- 
vented; and  the  Laughing  Song  is  in  the  style  of  duple- 
triple  rhythm  which  became  extremely  common  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  e.  g. 

When  the  green  woods  laugh  with  the  voice  of  joy, 
And  the  dimpling  stream  runs  laughing  by; 
When  the  air  does  laugh  with  our  merry  wit, 
And  the  green  hill  laughs  with  the  noise  of  it. 

To  Coleridge,  however,  must  be  given  the  credit  of 
definitely  placing  duple-triple  among  recognized  modern 
English  rhythms.  Christabel  is  written  chiefly  in  octo- 
syllabics, but  with  a  frequent  variation  of  duple-triple  and 
triple  lines.  Except  in  a  few  Cowleian  odes  and  in  Blake's 
Nurse's  Song,  this  deliberate  blending  of  different  rhythms 
in  the  same  poem  had  not  been  used  since  Spenser's  experi- 
ments in  the  Shepherd's  Calendar.  The  most  discussed 
part  of  the  poem  is  the  opening,  already  quoted  (p.  163). 
This  is  written  on  the  principle  of  duple-triple  rhythm,  a 

299 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

musical  equivalence  of  time  divisions,  with  a  free  variation 
of  from  two  to  three  syllables  to  each.  Coleridge  probably 
got  his  idea  for  this  from  the  rough  rhythm  of  some  of  the 
ballads.  His  Ancient  Manner,  which  was  written  hi  the 
same  year  (1797),  has  a  few  passages  in  the  rhythm.4 

Even  before  Christabel  was  printed  its  influence  began  to 
be  felt.  Some  passages  in  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel 6  are  in  a  similar  rhythm,  aud  in  the  same  poem  the 
Lay  of  Rosabelle  concludes  with  two  stanzas  in  it.  Then 
there  were  other  ballad  imitations  like  Southey's  Well  of 
St.  Keyne.  Shelley  after  a  few  early  trials6  showed  of  what 
wonderful  musical  effects  duple-triple  rhythm  was  capable 
by  using  it  for  his  Cloud.  Hogg's  Kilmeny  and  Charles 
Wolf's  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore  followed  not  long  after. 
All  through  the  rest  of  the  century  the  rhythm  continued 
to  be  used  for  almost  every  kind  of  poem.  The  many 
varieties  of  its  music  were  discovered  and  developed  by 
Tennyson,  Longfellow,  Swinburne,  Kipling,  Lanier,  Alfred 
Noyes,  Henry  Newbolt,  and  dozens  more  of  their  contem- 
poraries. To  show  the  varied  possibilities  of  the  rhythm, 
mention  may  be  made  of  the  following  poems  widely  different 
in  theme,  style  and  meter: — Tennyson's  Wreck,  Vastness, 

*  Brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 
My  forest-brook  along; 
When  the  ivy-tod  is  heavy  with  snow, 
And  the  owlet  whoopa  to  the  wolf  below, 
That  eats  the  she-wolf's  young. 

'  Quoted  above,  p.  171. 

•  Marianne's  Dream  (1817)  strongly  recalls  the  rhythm  of  Christabel, 
especially  the  xvith  stanza: 

The  plank  whereon  that  Lady  sate 

Was  driven  through  the  chasms  about  and  about, 

Between  the  peaks  so  desolate 
Of  the  drowning  mountains,  in  and  out, 

As  the  thistle-beard  on  a  whirlwind  sails — 

While  the  flood  was  filling  those  hollow  vales. 
300 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

and  Revenge;  Browning's  Up  at  a  Villa;  Swinburne's  Mater 
Dolorosa,  Forsaken  Garden,  and  Armada;  Longfellow's 
Paul  Revere's  Ride  and  Killed  at  the  Ford;  Kipling's  Tom- 
linson,  The  Mary  Gloster,  and  Conundrum  of  the  Workshops; 
Lanier's  Song  of  the  Chattahoochie  and  Marsh  Song — at  Sunset; 
and  Alfred  Noyes's  Eurydice,  Oxford  Revisited,  and  Bacchus 
and  the  Pirates. 

The  characteristic  which  distinguishes  duple-triple  from 
the  other  verse  rhythms  is  its  likeness  to  the  rhythm  of  music; 
it  so  clearly  depends  upon  time  equivalence.  The  varia- 
tion in  the  flow  of  duple  rhythm  consists  hi  subtle  departures 
from  a  very  fixed  norm — departures  much  less  obvious  than 
the  varying  rhythmic  flow  from  measure  to  measure,  which 
is  allowable  in  a  musical  tune.  The  duple-triple  approaches 
more  nearly  this  freedom  of  musical  rhythm,  and  its  varia- 
tions, more  conspicuous  than  those  of  duple,  do  not  depend 
so  much  upon  the  ear  of  the  individual  reader.  In  the  follow- 
ing stanza  from  Tennyson's  Maud  the  first  two  lines  are  the 
only  ones  that  are  parallel  in  rhythm  and  meter,  and  the 
flow  of  the  whole  six  lines  is  never  dissyllabic  or  trisyllabic 
for  more  than  two  feet  in  succession: 

All  night  have  the  roses  heard 

The  flute,  violin,  bassoon; 
All  night  has  the  casement  jessamine  stirr'd 

To  the  dancers  dancing  in  tune; 
Till  a  silence  fell  with  the  waking  bird, 

And  a  hush  with  the  setting  moon. 

A  scansion  scheme  for  the  passage  may  make  it  easier  to 
analyze  the  rhythm. 


X 


X 


X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X     X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X     X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X     X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

X 

301 

THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Poems  written  in  a  varied  rhythmic  pattern  like  this  gain  a 
special  tuneful  effect. 

This  rhythm  has  not  only  the  freest  variation,  but  also 
permits  the  most  natural  phrasing  of  all  rhythms  except 
that  of  vers  libre.  The  stanza  just  quoted  from  Maud  has 
no  light  stresses  hi  it.  There  is  seldom  a  need  for  them  in 
duple-triple,  which  may  easily  accept  the  rhythm  of  most 
prose  phrases.  In  fact,  it  is  so  important  in  this  irregular 
rhythm  that  the  poet  make  his  intention  evident  at  the 
first  reading,  that  light  stresses  are  best  avoided  except 
where  there  can  be  no  possible  question  of  rhythmic  ambi- 
guity. This  adherence  to  the  cadences  of  prose  means  that 
the  duple-triple  rhythm  has  much  less  opportunity  for  that 
struggle  between  the  movement  and  the  phrasing,  which  is 
one  of  the  characteristics  of  duple  rhythm  at  its  best.  For 
this  reason  a  subtle  ear  may  find  more  pleasure  in  the  latter 
than  hi  the  former.  On  the  other  hand,  the  duple-triple 
seems  to  me  to  have  a  great  advantage  over  the  triple  in  that 
it  does  not  have  the  inevitably  regular  recurrence  of  the 
strong  beat  which  tends  toward  monotony  in  long  anapestic 
poems. 

The  two  movements  in  duple-triple  rhythm  may  be 
exemplified  and  contrasted  in  the  two  passages  that  follow. 

lambic-anapestic : 

The  fields  fall  southward,  abrupt  and  broken, 
To  the  low  last  edge  of  the  long  lone  land. 

If  a  step  should  sound  or  a  word  be  spoken, 
Would  a  ghost  not  rise  at  the  strange  guest's  hand? 
(Swinburne:    A  Forsaken  Garden.) 

Trochaic-dactylic : 

Sunset  softened  the  crags  of  the  mountain, 

Silence  melted  the  hunter's  heart, 
Only  the  sob  of  a  falling  fountain 
Pulsed  in  a  deep  ravine  apart. 

(Alfred  Noyes:    Actaeon.) 
302 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

These  two  movements  have  the  same  relation  to  each 
other  that  anapestic  and  dactylic  have.  Practically  every- 
thing that  was  said  in  the  last  chapter  of  the  relation  of 
those  movements  will  hold  true  here.  Because  the  genius 
of  the  language  leans  more  toward  rising  than  toward 
falling  rhythm  the  trochaic-dactylic  is  less  stable,  and  in  the 
longer  meters  swings  easily  into  the  iambic-anapestic,  unless 
reinforced  by  the  impulse  of  a  cesura  which  gives  the  effect 
of  a  direct  attack  in  the  middle  of  the  line.  It  keeps  its 
individuality  best  in  short  meters,  where  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  the  direct  attack  gives  the  constant  strong 
emphasis  which  we  found  characteristic  of  dactylic  poems 
in  dimeter  or  trimeter.  The  two  movements  of  this  mixed 
rhythm  are  very  commonly  used  together  in  the  same 
poem — again  like  the  anapestic  and  dactylic.  The  tro- 
chaic-dactylic movement,  however,  does  not  occur  alone  as 
often  as  the  dactylic.  In  fact,  poems  written  throughout 
in  trochaic-dactylic  are  comparatively  rare  in  English. 
Aside  from  one  or  two  light  poems  of  Hood  and  Praed,  the 
movement  was  not  recognized  as  separable  from  the  iambic- 
anapestic  until  Swinburne,  doubtless  influenced  by  the  classic 
logacedic  rhythms,  used  it  for  several  poems  in  his  later 
volumes — notably  the  Smmmer's  Dream,  England — an  Ode, 
and  parts  of  his  Armada.  Later  came  Kipling's  Song  of  the 
English,  partly  in  trochaic-dactylic;  and  eight  or  ten  of 
Alfred  Noyes's  pieces. 

Both  movements  of  duple-triple  rhythm  occur  in  a  wide 
variety  of  meters  and  stanza  forms.  Frequently  they  are 
used  in  dimeter,  both  with  and  without  rime.  Many  of  these 
dimeter  poems,  like  Byron's  Could  Love  Forever  and  Francis 
Mahony's  Bells  of  Shandon,  are  made  up  of  lines  that  con- 
sidered individually  are  chiefly  duple  in  rhythm,  but  the 
use  of  light  endings  combined  with  an  unstressed  initial 
syllable  in  the  following  line  throws  the  whole  poem  into  a 
duple-triple  rhythm,  e.  g. 

303 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

With  deep  affection, 
And  recollection, 
I  often  think  of 

Those  Shandon  bells, 
Whose  sounds  so  wild  would, 
In  the  days  of  childhood, 
Fling  around  my  cradle 

Their  magic  spells.7 

When  duple-triple  dimeter  is  unrimed  it  has  an  archaicj 
semi-barbaric  manner,  an  imitation  or  revival  of  an  early 
middle  English  rhythm.  Tennyson  first  tried  this  in  his 
translation  of  the  Battle  of  Brunenburgh,  and  later  in  Merlin 
and  the  Gleam: 

0  young  Mariner, 
You  from  the  haven 
Under  the  sea-cliff 
You  that  are  watching 
The  gray  Magician 
With  eyes  of  wonder, 

1  am  Merlin, 
And  7  am  dying. 
7  am  Merlin 

Who  follow  the  Gleam. 

In  these  shorter  meters  the  question  of  whether  a  line  has 
either  one  or  two  syllables  before  the  first  stress,  or  begins 
with  direct  attack,  or  whether  it  has  a  strong,  or  weak,  or 
double  weak  ending  are  of  special  importance,  for  these 
matters  help  considerably  in  determining  the  particular 
character  of  the  verse  tune.  In  the  very  long  meters  these 
extra  syllables  occur  so  far  apart  that  they  appear  less  prom- 
inent. They  count  especially  in  the  rhythmic  scheme  of 
Shelley's  Cloud  because  the  use  of  internal  rimes  divides  the 
tetrameters  into  dimeters: 

7  Compare  the  similar  means  of  gaining  an  nnapestic  effect  in  the  di- 
meter of  Byron's  When  We  Two  Parted,  and  Poe's  For  Annie.  See 
above,  p.  284. 

304 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

I  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams; 
I  bear  light  shade  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noonday  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

The  peculiar  qualities  of  the  duple-triple  rhythm — its 
musical  effect  and  the  range  of  its  tune — may  be  studied 
by  a  comparison  of  two  stanzas  from  the  same  poem.  I  have 
chosen  two  stanzas  from  Swinburne's  Triumph  of  Time,  one 
from  near  the  beginning  and  one  near  the  end,  in  the 
same  meter,  with  the  same  rime  scheme,  and  both  duple- 
triple: 

The  loves  and  hours  of  the  life  of  a  man, 
They  are  swift  and  sad,  being  born  of  the  sea. 

Hours  that  rejoice  and  regret  for  a  span, 
Born  with  a  man's  breath,  mortal  as  he; 

Loves  that  are  lost  ere  they  come  to  birth, 

Weeds  of  the  wave  without  fruit  upon  earth. 

I  lose  what  I  long  for,  save  what  I  can, 
My  love,  my  love,  and  no  love  for  me! 

I  shall  never  be  friends  again  with  roses; 

I  shall  loath  sweet  tunes,  where  a  note  grown  strong 
Relents  and  recoils,  and  climbs  and  closes, 

As  a  wave  of  the  sea  turned  back  by  song. 
There  are  sounds  where  the  soul's  delight  takes  fire, 
Face  to  face  with  its  own  desire; 
A  delight  that  rebels,  a  desire  that  reposes; 

I  shall  hate  sweet  music  my  whole  life  long. 

Here  is  a  scansion  scheme  for  these  stanzas: 

305 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 


X 
The 

X       X 
loves  and 

XXX 

hours  of  the 

XXX 

life    of   a 

X 

man. 

X     X 

X    X 

X,  X    X 

XXX 

x. 

XXX 
XXX 

XXX 
X    X, 

XXX 
XXX 

x, 
x; 

XXX 

XXX 

X    X 

x, 

XXX 

X,  X    X 

XXX 

x. 

X 

XXX 

X    X, 

XXX 

x, 

X 

X,  X 

X,  X    X 

X    X 

X. 

X      X 
I    shall 

X     X 

XXX 
never    be 

.A 

X    X 

X       X 

friends    a 

X,  X    X 

X      X 

gain  with 

A 

X    X 

X  X 
roses; 

X 

X 

XXX 

X,  X 

X    X 

X    X, 

X     X 

XXX 

X    X 

X    X 

X. 

X     X 

XXX 

X    X 

X    X 

X, 

X    X 

XXX 

X    X 

X; 

X     X 
X    X 

XXX 
X    X 

XXX 
XXX 

XXX 

A 

X    X 

X   X; 
X. 

If  we  disregard  the  pauses  at  the  ends  of  the  lines  and  con- 
sider the  rhythm  continuous,  we  find  about  the  same  number 
of  trisyllabic  feet  in  both  stanzas,  but  they  are  differently 
distributed.  The  most  marked  difference  is  in  the  third 
foot  of  each  line.  In  the  first  stanza  quoted,  six  out  of  eight 
lines  have  a  trisyllabic  third  foot  and  the  fourth  foot  is 
always  monosyllabic  (i.  e.  all  the  lines  have  strong  endings). 
In  the  second  stanza  seven  out  of  the  eight  lines  have  a 
dissyllabic  third  foot,  and  three  of  the  lines  have  light 
endings.  These  differences  in  the  last  two  feet  of  most  of 
the  lines  make  the  chief  contrast  in  the  tune  of  the  two 
stanzas.  There  are  also  contrasts  in  the  way  the  lines  begin. 
The  first  stanza  has  four  with  direct  attack,  i.  e.  there  is  a 
blending  of  trochaic-dactylic  with  the  iambic-anapestic 
movement;  the  second  stanza  is  characterized  by  a  swing 

306 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

of  two  syllables  preceding  the  first  stress  in  six  lines  out  of  the 
eight.  With  this  contrast  before  him  in  the  tunes  of  two 
stanzas  of  the  same  poem,  the  reader  may  see  how  extremely 
varied  the  music  of  duple-triple  rhythm  may  be. 

Further  illustrations  of  the  varieties  of  this  rhythm  may 
be  found  in  Kipling.  He  has  discovered  many  ways  of 
bringing  out  its  possibilities.  Two  poems,  the  Ballad  of  the 
King's  Jest  and  the  Ballad  of  Bo  da  Thone,  are  very  close  in 
pattern,  both  tetrameter  couplets  and  "both  duple-triple — 
but  with  a  slight  difference  in  tune.  The  first  line  of  the 
formes  is, 

When  spring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass, 

with  a  single  trisyllabic  ripple  in  the  middle.  The  majority 
of  the  lines  are  of  this  type,  though  there  are  many  with  the 
ripple  in  mother  place  and  many  with  two  ripples.  The 
other  poem  likewise  announces  its  characteristic  tune  in  the 
first  line, 

Bo  da  Thone  was  a  warrior  bold, 

the  rhythm  of  which,  more  trisyllabic  than  the  lines  of  the 
King's  Jest,  is  repeated  very  often,  until,  toward  the  end 
of  the  poem,  the  rhythm  turns  into  unvaried  anapestics. 
Nearly  all  the  rhythms  in  one  poem  are  to  be  found  in  the 
other,  but  the  largest  proportion  in  each  follows  the  type 
of  its  first  line. 
Again,  compare  these  two  poems  in  hexameter: 

One  from  the  ends  of  the  earth — gifts  at  an  open  door 
Treason  has  much,  but  we,  Mother,  Thy  sons  have  more! 
From  the  whine  of  a  dying  man,  from  the  snarl  of  a  wolf-pack  freed, 
Turn,  for  the  world  is  Thine.    Mother  be  proud  of  thy  seed! 

(Song  of  the  English.) 

And  Ung  looked  down  at  his  deerskins — their  broad  shell-tasselled 

bands — 

And  Ung  drew  downward  his  mitten  and  looked  at  his  naked  hands. 

307 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

And  he  gloved  himself  and  departed,  and  he  heard  his  father  behind : 
"Son  that  can  see  so  clearly,  rejoice  that  thy  tribe  is  blind!" 

(Story  of  Ung.) 

The  contrast  in  these  tunes  comes  from  the  difference  in  the 
beginnings  of  the  lines  and  in  the  type  of  the  cesuras.  The 
passage  from  the  Song  of  the  English  is  characterized  (three 
out  of  the  four  lines)  by  direct  attack  and  by  a  cesura 
separating  two  strong  stresses.  The  movement  is  thus 
strongly  trochaic-dactylic.  The  Story  of  Ung  is  in  the 
opposite  movement,  and,  following  Kipling's  usual  practice 
in  hexameter,  always  has  the  cesura  between  two  unstressed 
syllables. 

The  Conundrum  of  the  Workshops  and  Tomlinson  are  both 
in  duple-triple  heptameter,  both  have  usually  a  cesura  after 
the  fourth  stress,  and  both  use  internal  rime  occasionally. 
The  difference  in  the  rhythms  is  that  Tomlinson  has  fewer 
trisyllabic  feet  and  even  frequent  lines  in  straight  iambic 
movement.  This  gives  a  different  rhythmic  feeling  to  each 
of  the  poems,  though  here  again,  some  rhythms  of  each  are 
to  be  found  in  the  other. 

Sometimes  the  feet  in  duple-triple  rhythm  are  arranged  with 
a  regular  variation  like  certain  of  the  classic  rhythms.  In 
the  second  stanza  of  Moore's  Irish  Peasant  to  his  Mistress 
(quoted  below)  the  flow  of  the  rhythm  is  checked  and 
slowed  by  the  two  dissyllabic  feet  which  regularly  follow 
two  trisyllabic.  This,  the  pattern  rhythm  of  the  poem,  is 
not  kept  so  closely  in  the  other  two  stanzas. 

Thy  |  rival  was  |  honor'd,  while  |  Thou  wert  |  wrong'd  and  |  scorn'd; 

Thy  crown  was  of  briers,  while  gold  her  brows  adorn 'd ; 

She  woo'd  me  to  temples,  whilst  Thou  lay'st  hid  in  caves; 

Her  friends  were  all  masters,  while  Thine,  alas!  were  slaves; 

Yet  cold  in  the  earth,  at  thy  feet,  I  would  rather  be 

Than  wed  what  I  loved  not,  or  turn  one  thought  from  Thee. 

Swinburne's  Evening  at  Vichy  is  composed  of  sixty-three 
pentameter  lines  with  a  trisyllabic  ripple  always  in  the 
third  foot,  e.  g. 

308 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

A  |  light  has  |  passed  that  |  never  shall  |  pass  a  |  way. 

When  a  similar  pattern  is  formed  with  tetrameter  lines  the 
greater  prominence  of  the  trisyllabic  foot  distinctly  changes 
the  character  of  the  rhythm.  Swinburne  has  a  four  line 
stanza  made  up  of  verses  whose  second  foot  is  regularly 
trisyllabic.  Poems  written  in  this  type  of  rhythm  come  as 
near  to  the  flavor  of  classic  poetry  as  accentual  verse  can. 
And  when  frequent  spondaic  phrasing  is  added,  as  in  the 
following  example,  the  resemblance  is  still  closer: 

As  |  trees  that  |  stand  in  the  |  storm-wind  |  fast 
She  stands  unsmitten  of  death's  keen  blast, 

With  strong  remembrance  of  sunbright  spring 
Alive  at  heart  to  the  lifeless  last. 

(On  tfie  Death  of  Richard  Burton.) 

An  eight-line  stanza  with  a  similar  pattern  in  the  trochaic- 
dactylic  movement  opens  the  exquisitely  musical  Swimmer's 
Dream: 

Dawn  is  |  dim  on  the  |  dark  soft  |  water, 

Soft  and  passionate,  dark  and  sweet. 
Love's  own  self  was  the  deep  sea's  daughter, 

Fair  and  flawless  from  face  to  feet, 
Hailed  of  all  when  the  world  was  golden, 
Loved  of  lovers  whose  names  beholden 
Thrill  men's  eyes  as  with  light  of  olden 

Days  more  glad  than  their  flight  was  fleet. 

After  six  stanzas  composed  on  this  pattern  come  two  stanzas 
in  long  trochaics,  then  four  hi  iambics,  and  finally  a  return 
to  the  rhythmic  pattern  of  the  opening  part  with  the  move- 
ment changed  to  iambic-anapestic.  Another  of  Swinburne's 
remarkable  rhythmic  tunes  is  produced  by  doubling  the  line 
which  composes  the  stanza  just  quoted  and  embellishing  it 
with  internal  rimes: 

Sea  and  strand,  and  a  lordlier  land  than  sea-tides  rolling  and  rising 
sun 

309 


THE  WRITING  AND  .READING  OF  VERSE 

Clasp  and  lighten  in  climes  that  brighten  with  day  when  day  that 

was  here  is  done, 
Call  aloud  on  their  children,  proud  with  trust  that  future  and  past 

are  one. 

(England:    An  Ode.) 

Swinburne  used  this  same  difficult  rhythm  for  two  more 
poems,  the  Birthday  Ode  (1891)  and  the  Threnody. 

These  illustrations  will  suffice  to  show  what  musical  effects 
may  be  produced  by  intricately  woven  patterns  of  duple- 
triple  rhythm.  But  an  analysis  of  Swinburne's  great 
examples  in  these  patterns  reveals  so  consummate  a  mastery 
as  to  discourage  the  thought  of  future  developments.  Poems 
written  in  such  rigid  form  are  not  very  common  in  English. 
They  are  not  only  difficult  to  do,  but  they  have  a  certain 
artificiality,  which,  though  it  may  charm  the  ear  attuned 
to  classic  poetry,  almost  inevitably  distracts  the  attention 
from  the  qualities  of  the  poem  other  than  the  rhythmical. 

The  greater  number  of  poems  in  duple-triple  rhythm  are 
freely  varied,  with  a  natural  and  easy  phrasing.  Browning, 
for  example,  has  dozens  of  them  in  the  shorter  meters.  And 
some  poets  have  felt  that  the  genius  of  the  rhythm  lies  in 
this  freedom  of  phrasing.  They  have  consequently  made  the 
rhythm  vary  with  the  changes  in  thought.  They  have  com- 
bined different  meters  and  movements  in  the  same  poem,  and 
often  have  blended  the  duple-triple  with  straight  duple  and 
straight  triple.  Tennyson's  Revenge  is  one  of  the  finest  of 
this  type  of  poem.  The  opening  line, 

At  j  Flores  |  hi  the  A- 1  aores  Sir  |  Richard  |  Grenvill  |  lay, 

announces  the  rhythm  in  which  it  is  chiefly  written.  From 
the  third  stanza  on,  changes  in  meter  are  introduced.  There 
are  trimeters,  pentameters,  and  heptameters  used  to  vary 
the  hexameter  base;  there  are  even  one  or  two  dimeters. 
The  tenth  and  fourteenth  stanzas  have  a  pentameter  base, 
and  the  ninth  is  in  heptameters.  And  the  rhythm  changes 
as  well  as  the  meter;  it  becomes  more  trisyllabic  in  some 

310 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

stanzas,  returns  to  the  rhythmic  motive  of  the  opening  line, 
and  concludes  in  anapestics.  Here  are  two  of  the  stamsas 
which  have  departed  considerably  from  the  rhythmic  and 
metrical  scheme  upon  which  the  poem  is  chiefly  built: 

VII 

And  while  |  now  the  |  great  San  |  Philip  |  hung  a- 1  bove  us  |  like  a 

|  cloud 

Whence  the  thunder  bolt  will  fall 
Long  and  loud, 
Four  galleons  drew  away 
From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day, 
And  |  two  u*  |  pon  the  |  larboard  and  |  two  u- 1  pon  the  |  starboard 

(lay, 
And  the  |  battle  |  thunder  |  broke  |  from  them  |  all. 

IX 

And  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over  the  summer 

sea, 

But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the  fifty-three. 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built  galleons  came, 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  with  her  battle-thunder 

and  flame; 
Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  drew  back  with  her  dead 

and  her  shame. 
For  some  were  sunk  and  many  were  shatter'd,  and  so  could  fight 

us  no  more — 
God  of  battles,  was  ever  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world  before? 

Tennyson  here,  as  always,  is  careful  of  his  punctuation. 
His  pauses  are  not  merely  for  the  sake  of  grammar,  but  are  a 
part  of  the  rhythmic  effect.  The  unpunctuated  continuity 
of  the  second  line  in  the  ninth  stanza  contrasts  with  the 
divided  rhythm  of  the  next  three. 

Arnold's  Forsaken  Merman  is  another  poem  in  which 
different  meters  and  rhythms  are  most  musically  combined. 
The  feeling  that  pervades  the  first  third  of  it  is  trochaic, 
freely  blended  with  suggestions  of  trochaic-dactylic.  The 
poem  begins: 

311 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away; 

Down  and  away  below. 
Now  rny  brothers  call  from  the  bay; 
Now  the  great  winds  shore  wards  blow; 
Now  the  salt  tides  seawards  flow; 
Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 
Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray. 

Children  dear,  let  us  away. 
This  way,  this  way. 

This  stanza  may  be  described  as  a  blending  of  trochaic- 
dactylic  with  a  trochaic  movement  which  is  freely  phrased 
with  long  and  extra  accented  syllables.  Some  of  the  fines 
I  should  scan  thus: 

1  Come,  dear  |  children,  |  let  us  a-  |  way  .  .  . 
4          2        42       2224 

|  Now  the  |  great  winds  |  shorewards  |  blow; 
4233  33          4 

|  Now  the  |  salt  tides  |  seawards  |  flow  .  .  . 
4233         33        4 

|  Children  dear,  |  let  us  a-  |  way. 
22       2        2224 

|  This  way,  |  this  way  |. 
3333 

The  stanza  that  follows  is  more  purely  trochaic  than  the 
first,  except  for  the  line, 

|  "Margaret!  |  Margaret!" 

which  occurs  twice. 

The  third  and  fourth  stanzas  use  trisyllabic  variation  more 
freely.    Lines  like, 

And  the  |  little  gray  |  church  on  the  |  windy  |  shore, 

and, 

312 


DUPLE-TRIPLE  RHYTHMS 

|  Feed  in  the  |  ooze  of  their  |  pasture-  |  ground, 

anticipate  the  triple  rhythm  toward  which  the  poem  is  tend- 
ing. But  trochaic  lines  with  long  syllables  continue  to  make 
part  of  the  rhythm,  e.  g. 

|  Where  great  |  whales  come  |  sailing  |  by. 
33           33334 

The  fifth  stanza,  after  the  first  three  lines,  runs  into  an 
iambic-anapestic  rhythm  which  has  more  triple  than  duple 
feet.  Two  of  the  lines  are  pure  anapestics.  Here  is  the 
whole  stanza. 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 
(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away? 
Once  she  sate  with  you  and  me, 

On  a  red  gold  throne  hi  the  heart  of  the  sea, 

And  the  youngest  sate  on  her  knee. 
She  combed  its  bright  hair  and  she  tended  it  well, 
When  down  swung  the  sound  of  the  far-off  bell. 
She  sigh'd,  she  look'd  up  through  the  clear  green  sea. 
She  said:   " I  must  go,  for  my  kinsf oik  pray 
In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 
'Twill  be  Easter-time  in  the  world — ah  me! 
And  I  lose  my  poor  soul,  Merman!  here  with  Thee." 
I  said:   "Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves. 
Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind  sea-caves. " 

She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday? 

The  next  stanza  is  much  in  the  same  movement.  But 
after  that  comes  a  more  irregular  stanza,  the  chief  meter  of 
which  is  trimeter.  This  is  a  transition  to  the  new  meter 
and  rhythm  of  the  last  two  stanzas  of  the  poem;  These  are 
in  anapestic  dimeter,  as  I  should  read  them,  and  are  phrased 
in  a  way  to  give  a  peculiarly  individual  music.  A  possible 
scansion  in  musical  notation,  which  has  its  advantages  here, 
would  be  this: 

313 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 


Come 

J> 

a     -  i  way, 
J>      1     J- 

a  -  way, 
«b      J 

Ichil    -   dren; 
J.     J>' 

Come, 
J 

•  chil      . 

1  J- 

dren,       come 
J)          J 

Idownl 
J     i    » 

The 

i  hoarse    wind      blows      i 

cold        er; 

Lights 

1 

1  shine 
J- 

in          the 
J>-         J)- 

Itown. 
J-r 

The  third  line  here, 

The  hoarse  wind  blows  colder, 

phrased  with  heavy  and  extra  accented  syllables,  anticipates 
the  rhythm  of  several  lines  in  the  final  stanza,  e.  g. 

When  sweet  airs  come  seaward. 

This  final  stanza  is  in  an  almost  regular  triple  rhythm,  but 
it  contains  ten  or  more  phrases  of  a  rhythm  like  that  of  the 
expression  The  winds  blow,*  which  make  the  stanza  unique 
in  its  verse  tune.  Here  is  the  reading  I  should  give  it: 

3  '    But,  i  chil  .  dren,  at         i  mid    -    night, 

*      J  I    J  J  J         I    J           J        T 

When  i  soft  the        winds         i  blow 

J)  I    i  J)          J             I    J-           i 

When  i  clear  falls          the         i  moon    -   light, 

A    I  J      J-      J>    I  J      J 

When       i  spring        tides  are         i    low; 

j     i.    ;>   I  j.    i 


i  sweet      airs       come      i   sea  -  war 

j     i    j    I  j    j 


When     i  sweet      airs       come      i   sea  -  ward 

7 


From 


J 


broom, 


8  In  classical  scansion  called  a  1  {urchins,  ~  — 

314 


DUPLE-TRIPLE   RHYTHMS 

And       i  high     rocks     throw     |  mild  -    ly 
J>       I    J          J  J         I    J-        J> 

On    the      blanched  sands      a,      i  gloom; 

J>  -h    J     i-    JH  J 

Up  the  still  glistening  beaches, 
Up  the  creeks  we  will  hie; 
Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 
The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry. 
We  will  gaze,  from  the  sand-hills, 
At  the  white,  sleeping  town; 

And  then  come  back  down, 
Singing,  "There  dwells  a  lov'd  one> 
But  cruel  is  she. 
She  left  lonely  forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea.'.' 


315 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

The  history  of  every  art  shows  periods  of  revolt  from  con- 
ventionalities, from  standards,  and  even  from  laws.  Critical 
wars  have  been  waged  over  poetic  diction,  verse  forms  have 
been  worn  out  by  the  poets  and  dropped  from  use,  and 
rhythms  which  one  age  eyed  askance  as  innovations,  another 
has  later  scorned  as  dully  old-fashioned.  At  present  the 
poets  are  engaged  in  one  more  of  these  quarrels  over  form— 
this  time  as  to  how  much  form  is  necessary,  or,  in  fact, 
whether  any  is  necessary  at  all. 

This  recent  development  of  free  verse  is  a  natural  reaction 
following  the  kind  of  poetry  written  between  1880  and  1910. 
The  successors  of  Tennyson  and  Swinburne  constituted  a 
group  of  poets  of  as  high  a  degree  of  technical  skill  in  difficult 
fixed  rhythms  and  meters  as  any  period  can  show.  A  radical 
change  in  type  was  to  be  expected.  And  this  prosodic 
revolt  is  made  more  prominent  by  the  fact  that  along  with 
it  has  developed  a  revolt  toward  an  absolute  realism  in  point 
of  view  and  in  diction.  The  adherents  of  the  old  and  of 
the  new  schools  belabor  one  another  with  words. 

One  side  claims  that  fixed  forms  are  monotonous,  and  that 
all  possibilities  of  further  development  in  them  have  been 
exhausted;  the  other  side  claims  that  vers  libre  is  utterly 
without  art,  that  it  is  the  refuge  of  the  lazy  poet.  Both  sides 
present  as  proof  of  their  points  the  most  execrable  examples 
of  the  type  they  wish  to  villify;  wben  one  writer  condemns 
all  vers  libre  by  quoting  some  silly  eccentricity,  a  vers  librist 
retorts  with  "Mary  had  a  little  lamb." 

It  seems  hardly  necessary  for  the  present  author  to  defend 
fixed  verse  from  the  charge  of  obviousness  and  monotony 

316 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

of  rhythm  after  he  has  written  a  book  on  its  infinite  pos- 
sibilities and  subtle  variations.  And  on  the  other  hand, 
though  much  free  verse  is  the  result  of  mere  laziness,  or 
crudeness  of  technique,  to  condemn  the  type  indiscrimi- 
nately means  to  deny  a  place  in  poetic  art  to  forms  highly 
developed  by  Arnold,  Patmore,  Henley,  Whitman,  Blake, 
and  the  translators  of  the  Psalter.  Both  the  fixed  and  the 
free  types  of  verse  will  undoubtedly  go  on  existing  side  by 
side,  and  as  new  singers  arise  they  will  discover  new  capa- 
bilities in  both  for  embodying  the  new  aspects  of  life  they 
have  to  present. 

Whether  the  poet  chooses  a  fixed  or  a  free  manner  of 
expression  will  depend  upon  his  mood  or  upon  his  habitual 
way  of  thought.  The  notion  that  free  verse  is  a  more 
natural  form  of  expression,  and  therefore  easier  to  write 
than  fixed  verse  is,  I  think,  a  fallacy.  The  difficulty  in 
composition  which  free  verse  presents  is  that  it  does  not 
force  the  poet  to  contemplate  his  thought  with  an  intensity 
which  brings  out  its  fullest  possibilities,  and  which  at  the 
same  time  rejects  its  superfluous  fringes.  Great  free  verse 
can  be  written  only  by  a  mind  capable  of  concentration  and 
of  self-criticism.  The  danger  of  too  much  freedom  is  that 
poetry  may  easily  become  the  mere  jotting  down  of  very 
casual  thoughts  in  haphazard  rhythm.  The  first  form  in 
which  an  idea  comes  to  a  poet  is  just  the  material  for  a 
poem;  if  he  allows  himself  complete  freedom  of  expression 
he  is  tempted  to  leave  the  thought  undeveloped,  so  that  he 
does  not  bring  out  all  the  poetry  and  feeling  the  theme 
really  can  inspire  in  him.  A  comparison  of  some  of  Emer- 
son's poems  with  the  first  drafts  of  them  in  his  notebooks, 
makes  an  interesting  study  in  the  development  of  a  poetic 
idea  through  the  requirement  of  form.  Here  is  a  passage  from 
Seashore,  which  is  improved  in  both  rhythm  and  thought: 

Was  ever  couch  so  magnificent  as  mine?  Lie  down  on  my 
warm  ledges  and  learn  that  a  very  little  hut  is  all  you  need.  I  have 
made  this  architecture  superfluous,  and  it  is  paltry  beside  mine. 

317 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Was  ever  couch  magnificent  as  mine 

Lie  down  on  the  warm  rock-ledges  and  there  learn 

A  little  hut  suffices  like  a  town. 

I  make  your  sculptured  architecture  vain, 

Vain  beside  mine.     I  drive  my  wedges  home, 

And  carve  the  coastwise  mountain  into  caves. 

A  great  deal  of  recent  work  seems  to  me  to  be  merely 
hints  and  suggestions,  first  drafts,  that  would  not  appear  so 
trivial  if  the  poets  had  developed  the  significance  of  these 
hints.  The  beginner  in  poetic  composition  will  find  the 
demands  of  rigid  form  an  actual  help  to  his  development. 
In  the  process  of  fulfilling  the  requirements  of  fixed  meters 
and  rime  schemes  he  will  turn  over  in  mind  many  phrases 
for  the  expression  of  his  thought,  and  when  he  has  acquired 
a  facility  he  will  find  a  way  to  use  the  best  of  these  phrases. 
Arnold,  Henley,  Patmore  and  Whitman  wrote  in  the  fixed 
forms  before  they  tried  free  rhythms;  and  the  young  poet 
had  better  learn  to  sail  his  boat  in  the  sheltered  harbors  of 
the  quatrain  or  sonnet  before  he  ventures  out  in  the 
treacherous  sea  of  vers  libre.  I  do  not  wish  to  argue  that  the 
forms  of  fixed  verse  are  necessary  for  the  development  of 
poetic  thought,  but  that  some  kind  of  form  is.  Free  verse 
is  a  most  musical  vehicle  for  the  expression  of  the  poet's 
feeling,  as  Arnold,  Henley  and  Whitman  have  shown; 
but  with  these  masters  there  were  always  in  view  certain 
standards  guiding  their  changes  in  rhythm. 

The  metrist,  however,  finds  a  greater  difficulty  in  formu- 
lating principles  for  free  verse  than  he  does  for  the  fixed 
types,  because  the  very  nature  of  free  verse  makes  its  form 
a  matter  which  varies  with  each  individual  poem.  In  no 
other  type  of  expression  is  the  truism,  that  form  must  be  in 
perfect  correspondence  with  thought,  quite  so  true.  But 
poets  and  readers  and  critics  rarely  agree  as  to  whether  in 
any  given  case  this  perfect  accord  has  been  attained.  The 
metrist  can  merely  give  a  few  hints  to  the  vers  librist, 
scarcely  anything  that  may  be  called  principles.  The  poets 

318 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

themselves  who,  like  Miss  Amy  Lowell  and  Mr.  John  Gould 
Fletcher,  have  written  of  their  art  form,  insist  that  there 
are  laws  guiding  free  verse  rhythms,  but  they  are  extremely 
vague  about  these  laws  and  do  not  commit  themselves  by 
exact  statements  and  pointed  illustrations. 

In  the  fifth  chapter  of  this  book,  in  which  we  discussed 
the  differences  between  prose,  rhythmical  prose,  free  verse 
and  fixed  verse,  a  distinction  was  drawn  between  free  verse 
that  is  irregular  in  meter  only,  and  free  verse  that  is  irregular 
in  both  meter  and  rhythm.  Verse  that  is  free  from  a  fixed 
metrical  norm  and  that  may  also  be  free  from  rime  we  may 
call  the  Arnold  type  of  vers  libre — a  type  which  developed 
from  the  English  Pindaric  ode  and  from  imitated  choruses 
of  the  Greek  dramatists.  This  kind  of  vers  libre  Milton 
used  for  the  famous  choruses  in  Samson  Agonistes,  Arnold 
in  half  a  dozen  of  his  best  known  poems,  Patmore  in  his 
Angel  in  the  House,  and  Henley  in  Hawthorne  and  Lavender. 
Verse  that  is  free  from  a  fixed  meter  and  from  a  definite 
rhythmical  pattern  we  may  call  the  Whitman  type  of  vers 
libre.  This  type,  as  was  shown  in  chapter  five,  is,  except 
for  the  manner  of  printing,  identical  with  rhythmical  prose, 
from  which,  in  fact,  it  apparently  developed.  This  is  the 
free  verse  of  the  English  Psalter,  McPherson's  Ossian, 
Blake's  prophetic  books,  Henley's  London  Voluntaries,  and 
most  of  Whitman's  Leaves  of  Grass. 

This  distinction  in  type  of  vers  libre  according  to  the 
degree  of  freedom  which  it  follows,  is  not  especially  im- 
portant except  for  the  fact  that  the  Arnold  type  is  close 
enough  to  fixed  verse  to  maintain  the  struggle  between  the 
phrasing  and  the  underlying  established  rhythm — the 
struggle  of  forces  which  brings  about  variety  in  all  kinds 
of  fixed  verse;  the  Whitman  type,  being  practically  the 
same  as  rhythmical  prose,  gains  its  variety  through  changes 
in  the  rhythm  itself.  The  modern  vers  librists  write  in 
either  type,  according  to  the  degree  of  freedom  they  desire. 

Two  of  the  finest  poems  of  the  type  which  holds  to  an 

319 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

underlying  rhythmic  norm  are  Arnold's  Strayed  Reveller  and 
Philomela.  These  are,  except  in  one  or  two  places,  unrimed; 
the  lines  constantly  vary  in  length ;  the  stanzas  are  irregular 
in  length  and  structure;  but  the  rhythm  is  not  free.  Here  is 
thenvhole  of  Philomela: 

Hark!  ah  the  Nightingale! 

The  tawny-throated! 

Hark!  from  that  moonlit  cedar  what  a  burst! 

What  triumph !  Hark — what  pain ! 

O  Wanderer  from  a  Grecian  shore, 

Still,  after  many  years  in  distant  lands, 

Still  nourishing  in  thy  bewildered  brain 

That  wild,  unquench'd,  deep-sunken,  old-world  pain — 

Say,  will  it  never  heal? 
And  can  this  fragrant  lawn 
With  its  cool  trees  and  night, 
And  the  sweet,  tranquil  Thames, 
And  moonshine,  and  the  dew, 
To  thy  rack'd  heart  and  brain 

Afford  no  balm? 

Dost  thou  tonight  behold 

Here  through  the  moonlight  on  this  English  grass, 
The  unfriendly  palace  in  the  Thracian  wild? 

Dost  thou  again  peruse 
With  hot  cheeks  and  sear'd  eyes 
The  too  clear  web,  and  thy  dumb  Sister's  shame? 

Dost  thou  once  more  assay 
Thy  flight,  and  feel  come  over  thee, 
Poor  fugitive,  the  feathery  change 
Once  more,  and  once  more  seem  to  make  resound 
With  love  and  hate,  triumph  and  agony, 
Lone  Daulis  and  the  high  Cephissian  vale? 

Listen  Eugenia — 
How  thick  the  bursts  come  crowding  through  the  leaves! 

Again — thou  hearest! 
Eternal  Passion 
Eternal  Pain! 

320 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

The  sense  of  structure  in  this  poem  comes  from  the 
correspondence  of  the  thought  phrases  with  the  line  lengths, 
from  the  parallel  phrases  and  rhythms  and  from  the  climactic 
arrangement  of  longer  lines  leading  up  to  three  short  ones 
at  the  close.  A  definite  rhythmical  pattern  is  felt  through 
the  poem,  for  a  third  of  the  lines  are  familiar  variations 
of  the  iambic  pentameter  and  the  rest  are  short  lines  with 
no  unusual  departures  from  the  iambic. 

The  coincidence  of  line  and  phrasing  which  Arnold  carries 
out  in  Philomela  and  in  the  greater  part  of  the  Strayed 
Reveller  is  important  in  free  verse  of  either  of  the  two  types 
we  have  distinguished.  A  struggle  between  the  thought 
phrase  and  the  meter  cannot  be  perceived  by  the  ear  unless 
there  is  a  regularly  expected  line  length,  i.e.,  there  is  noth- 
ing gained  by  making  the  sense  run  over  the  line  in  vers 
libre. 

For  instance,  is  there  any  point  at  all  in  the  following 
line  division? 

From  Bundle's  Opera  House  in  the  village 

To  Broadway  is  a  great  step, 

But  I  tried  to  take  it,  my  ambition  fired 

When  sixteen  years  of  age 

Seeing  "East  Lynne"  played  here  in  the  village 

By  Ralph  Barrett,  the  coming 

Romantic  actor,  who  enthralled  my  soul. 

If  the  lines  of  verse  are  to  have  any  existence  as  successive 
rhythmic  units  they  must  be  made  evident  either  by 
expected  repetition  of  meter,  or  by  rime,  or  by  phrasing 
which  makes  them  clearly  units. 

Always  in  free  verse  one  should  feel  that  there  is  some 
reason  for  the  line  division.  Just  as  one  avoids  the  monotony 
of  many  successive  short  phrases  in  prose  style,  so  free  verse 
gains  by  variety  in  phrase  lengths.  For  example,  the 
following  choppy  and  abrupt  phrasing  does  not  seem  to  me 
suitable  for  the  theme: 

321 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

Opposite  my  window, 

The  moon  cuts, 

Clear  and  round, 

Through  the  plum-coloured  night. 

She  cannot  light  the  city; 

It  is  too  bright. 

It  has  white  lamps, 

And  glitters  coldly. 

A  finer  effect  may  be  gained  by  a  climactic  arrangement 
of  lines,  several  long  sweeps  of  phrases  ending  with  short 
striking  ones,  or  several  short  ones  rounded  out  with  the 
finality  which  long  phrases  give.  Such  arrangements  are 
worth  working  for;  they  add  a  sense  of  structure  to  the  poem 
or  stanza.  Henley,  in  Hawthorne  and  Lavender,  has  varied 
his  line  lengths  most  successfully,  and,  in  the  following 
example  made  the  structure  clear  by  an  arrangement  of 
interwoven  rimes: 

Where,  in  what  other  life, 

Where,  in  what  old,  spent  star, 

Systems  ago,  dead  vastitudes  afar, 

Were  we  two  bird  and  bough,  or  man  and  wife? 

Or  wave  and  spar? 

Or  J  the  beating  sea,  and  you  the  bar 

On  which  it  breaks?    I  know  not,  I! 

But  this,  0  this,  my  very  dear  I  know; 

Your  voice  awakes  old  echoes  in  my  heart; 

And  things  I  say  to  you  now  are  said  once  more; 

And,  sweet,  when  we  two  part, 

I  feel  I  have  seen  you  falter  and  linger  so, 

So  hesitate,  and  turn,  and  cling, — yet  go, 

As  once  in  some  innumerable  Before, 

Once  on  some  fortunate  yet  thrice-blasted  shore, 

Was  it  for  good? 

O,  these  poor  eyes  are  wet; 

And  yet,  0  yet, 

Now  that  we  know,  I  would  not,  if  I  could, 

Forget. 

322 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

The  same  principle  of  variation  in  line  length  is  evident 
throughout  Whitman's  use  of  free  rhythms.  He  is  par- 
ticularly fond  of  long  sweeping  reaches.  In  the  following 
passage  from  the  Mystic  Trumpeter  the  lines  vary  in  length 
from  five  to  eleven  time  parts  (as  I  read  them),  the  longer 
lines  broken  by  cesuras  into  a  rhythmic  ebb  and  flow: 

Blow  again,  Trumpeter!  and  for  my  sensuous  eyes, 

Bring  the  old  pageants — show  the  feudal  world, 

What  charm  thy  music  works — thou  makest  pass  before  me, 

Ladies  and  cavaliers  long  dead — barons  are  in  their  castle 

halls — the  Troubadours  are  singing; 
Armed  knights  go  forth  to  redress  wrongs — some  in  quest  of 

the  Holy  Grail: 
I  see  the    tournament — I    see   the    contestants,  encased    in 

heavy  armor,  seated  on  stately  champing  horses; 
I  hear  the  shouts — the  sound  of  blows  and  smiting  steel: 
I  see  the  Crusaders'  tumultuous  armies — Hark  how  the 

cymbals  clang! 
Lo!  where  the  monks  walk  in  advance,  bearing  the  cross  on  high! 

Not  only  are  these  lines  varied  in  length,  but  each  line  is  a 
thought-phrase.  The  form  of  this  poem  is  in  correspondence 
with  the  ideas  expressed. 

This  correspondence,  too,  appears  in  the  changes  in 
rhythm.  Whitman  here  has  shown  his  own  type  of  free 
verse  to  the  greatest  advantage,  for  it  is  in  possibilities  of 
rhythmic  change  that  the  advantage  consists.  The  spirited 
beginning  of  the  passage  just  quoted  seems  to  me  to  have  the 
rhythm  of  a  trumpet  call: 

Blow  a-  |  gain,  |  trumpeter! 

The  next  four  lines  leave  the  triple  rhythm  for  a  somewhat 
varied  duple,  which  seems  to  move  slower  than  the  triple. 
The  two  parallel  phrases  of  the  sixth  line  have  a  parallel 
rhythm: 

I  |  see  the  |  tournament — 

I  |  see  the  |  contestants, — 
323 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 
which  is  echoed  later  in  the  triple  rhythm  of  the  line, 

I  |  see  the  Cru-  |  saders'  tu-  |  multuous  |  armies — |  Hark! 
how  the  |  cymbals  |  clang! 

The  peculiar  rhythm  of  that  last  line  of  the  passage  is  very 
suggestive  <?f  a  stately  walk: 

I  Lo!  where  the  |  monks  |  walk  in  ad-  |  vance,  |  bearing  the 
|  cross  on  |  high! 

Changes  in  rhythm  indicating  changes  in  thought  and, 
wherever  possible,  rhythms  directly  suggestive  of  the 
thought,  are  effects  to  be  sought  after  in  writing  vers  libre. 
Mr.  John  Gould  Fletcher,  who  has  emphasized  in  one  of  his 
prefaces  the  importance  of  this  point,  sometimes  exemplifies 
it  admirably,  as  for  instance — 

The  rolling  and  the  tossing  of  the  sides  of  immense  pavilions 
Under  the  whirling  wind  that  screams  up  the  cloudless  sky, 

and  again, 

Like  cataracts  that  crash  from  a  crumbling  crag 
Into  the  dull-blue  smouldering  gulf  of  a  lake  below. 

Suggestive  rhythmic  change  ought  to  be  one  of  the 
characteristic  qualities  of  the  freer  type  of  vers  libre,  but 
most  of  the  recent  poets  seem  to  me  to  have  succeeded  in 
it  but  indifferently  well.  This  suggestiveness  may  be 
gained  in  other  ways  than  the  mere  obvious  imitation  of 
sound  or  movement.  A  sudden  change  in  the  rhythm  may 
have  the  effect  of  italicizing  the  thought  in  the  new  rhythm, 
so  that  the  thought  becomes  more  vivid.  The  two  changes 
in  the  rhythm  of  the  following  lines  from  Henley  are,  I 
think,  very  suggestive,  but  they  might  emphasize  other 
effects  quite  as  well  if  given  to  another  thought  in  a  different 
context. 

The  River,  jaded  and  forlorn, 
Welters  and  wanders  wearily — wretchedly  on; 
324 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

Yet  in  and  out  among  the  ribs 

Of  the  old  skeleton  bridge  as  in  the  piles 

Of  some  dead  lake-built  city,  full  of  skulls, 

Worm-worn,  rat-riddled,  mouldy  with  memories  .  .  . 

Rhythm  alone,  whether  in  free  verse  or  fixed,  has  no  objective 
quality  apart  from  association  with  the  idea  it  expresses; 
it  merely  emphasizes  and  adds  suggestion  to  the  thought. 
The  theory  of  the  vers  librists  is  that  the  freedom  of  their 
form  permits  a  wider  use  of  expressive  rhythmic  effects, 
but  in  actual  fact  a  reader  will  turn  many  pages  of  the  recent 
volumes  of  verse  before  he  finds  a  rhythm  that  stands  out 
unmistakably  as  a  perfect  accord  of  form  with  thought. 
Imitative  and  suggestive  rhythms  actually  occur  more 
frequently  in  the  fixed  verse  forms  of  Tennyson  than  in  any 
of  the  modern  vers  librists.  The  reason  for  this  lies  not 
only  in  the  greater  genius  of  Tennyson,  but  in  the  fact  that 
rhythmic  changes  are  more  prominent  when  they  are  felt 
as  departures  from  an  expected  basic  rhythm.  For  example, 
the  rhythm  of, 

|  First  as  in  |  fear,  |  step  after  |  step,  she  |  stole, 
|  Down  the  16ng  |  tower  |  stairs  |  hesita-  |  ting, 

(Tennyson:  Launcelot  and  Elaine.) 

is  suggestively  wavering  because  the  lines  are  phrased  to 
bring  out  departures  from  the  expected  iambic  norm  of  the 
blank  verse  context.  If  the  line  occurred  in  a  context  of 
free  verse  without  any  regular  norm,  the  rhythm  would  not 
so  obviously  have  the  effect  of  wavering.  The  lesson  which 
the  vers  librist  may  learn  from  this  is  to  make  two  or  three 
lines  in  an  even  rhythm  directly  precede  a  line  whose  sug- 
gestive irregularity  he  wishes  to  make  conspicuous. 

Of  the  other  means  besides  rhythm,  of  bringing  closer 
together  the  form  and  the  thought,  the  tone-color  of  the 
phrases  and  passages  is  as  important  in  free  verse  as  in 
fixed,  or  as  in  fine  prose.  Here  there  is  no  difference  in  the 
principles  guiding  the  writer  of  one  form  of  expression  or 

325 


THE  WRITING  AND  READING  OF  VERSE 

another;  chapter  eight  has  already  been  devoted  to  this 
phase  of  technique.  The  writer  of  free  verse  has  perhaps 
a  special  advantage  in  certain  kinds  of  imitative  effects. 
The  following  line  from  Mr.  J.  C.  Underwood's  War  Flames 
very  successfully  combines  a  cumulative  whirring  of  z's 
and  m's  with  a  long  full  sweep  of  rhythm: 

High  in  the  sky  through  the  mist  that  hides  the  stars  comes  a 
drumming  of  motors  madly  whirring  in  limbo. 

To  these  somewhat  scattered  hints  on  technique  should 
be  added  the  point  that  good  free  verse  ought  to  be  dis- 
tinctive in  its  form.  It  ought  not  to  approach  too  closely 
to  well  recognized  fixed  forms  lest  it  seem  merely  a  careless 
and  unfinished  attempt  at  some  other  type  of  work.  Poems 
that  start  as  sonnets,  but  later  introduce  short  lines  or 
run  over  the  fixed  limits  of  the  form,  on  the  plea  that  they  are 
verslibre,  are  to  be  deprecated.  And  so  with  blank  verse 
with  a  metrical  freedom  which  allows  just  enough  trimeters 
or  tetrameters  to  make  the  poem  an  unfortunate  compromise. 
Accept  the  fixed  forms  as  they  are,  or  create  a  free  form  of 
your  own,  but  do  not  make  vers  libre  an  excuse  for  evading 
difficulties.  The  poet  should  remember  that  the  ears  of 
his  present  readers  are  trained  in  the  old  types  of  fixed 
verse,  and  that  whenever  his  work  approaches  these  old 
types,  some  minor  departure  like  the  lack  of  a  rime  startles 
and  disappoints  us.  The  effect  is  not  that  of  an  interesting 
novelty,  but  of  something  crudely  unfinished.  An  example 
may  be  found  in  the  following  quatrain  where  the  unrimed 
last  word  of  the  stanza  in  the  old  accustomed  "common 
meter"  hits  us  like  a  blow: 


The  days  went  by  like  shadows, 
The  minutes  wheeled  like  stars, 
She  took  the  pity  from  my  heart, 
And  made  it  into  smiles. 
326 


FREE  VERSE  OR  VERS  LIBRE 

The  freedom  which  leads  to  such  unpleasant  effects  seems  to 
me  very  unfortunate. 

A  good  plan,  I  think,  for  the  aspirant  who  wishes  to 
write  free  verse,  is  to  study  the  qualities  of  prose  rhythms 
written  by  the  masters  of  style.  A  careful  analysis  of  pas- 
sages of  DeQuincey,  Ruskin,  Pater,  or  Stevenson  would 
show  much  about  the  variation  in  length  of  phrase,  frequent 
change  in  rhythm,  the  use  of  parallel  rhythms,  and  of 
climax.1 

I  have  tried  to  point  out  a  few  ways  in  which  the  new 
movement  in  verse  may,  by  a  study  of  the  rhythms  of  Whit- 
man, Henley,  and  writers  of  great  prose,  develop  a  finer  sense 
of  artistic  effect.  Free  verse,  like  any  other  form  of  art, 
must  have  its  principles.  Haphazard  expression  without 
standards  can  never  produce  work  of  value.  It  will  be  a 
great  pity  for  people  who  think  their  emotions  interesting 
to  feel  that  they  can  write  poetry  between  the  newspaper 
and  breakfast,  now  that  poetry  is  easier  to  do  than  it  used 
to  be.  Unless  the  modern  school  develops  some  principles 
of  length  and  flow  of  rhythms,  and  some  sense  of  grouping, 
of  climax, — of  form,  they  will  have  only  the  temporary 
vogue  of  startling  novelty. 

1  These  points  have  been  brought  out  in  Chapter  V. 


327 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  047  481     7 


